


i'd give up forever to touch you

by geralehane



Series: gera's step-sister au [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, step sister au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's mother is engaged to Lexa's father, and the girls are about to become unwilling step siblings. Instead, they become so much more. Or, step sister au on tumblr. (Lexa is on the autism spectrum.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lexa.

Lexa’s lived through three step siblings and none of them were as annoyingly _present_ as Clarke Griffin. Probably due to the fact that none of them insisted on having unapologetically loud sex at six in the morning on a Wednesday. This girl baffles Lexa as much as she annoys her. Clarke despises waking up for school, looks half-dead when she does show up to classes, and stares at Lexa with accusation and muted resentment when she returns from her morning jogs. Yet she has no problem enthusiastically participating in such physically demanding activities. At six in the morning. On a Wednesday. Waking Lexa ten precious minutes earlier than she has to be up. Clarke is lucky the semester has just started and there were no tests given yet. Lexa would probably kill her and her ‘friend’ in cold blood if she dared to wake her up this way on a quiz day.

 

(It’s her senior year. She can’t afford to screw it up. Nuisances like her almost step-sister won’t deter her from her goals.)

 

Besides, if she’s lucky her father will get bored with Clarke’s mother long before he actually marries her and the Griffins will move out the same way they moved in, arms full of boxes on a Saturday morning. Abby Griffin will officially become Mrs. Woods in six months. A lot of things can change in six months. She knows they won’t, though, not really. Things usually start to fall apart after the ceremony is done and over with. She went through her father’s routine precisely three times. If she were Abby, she’d be wary of becoming the fourth. It always goes the same way.

 

Except this time, Clarke Griffin is brought into the equation, and she’s already throwing Lexa off balance. Two weeks of living - co-existing, really - with this girl, and she has come to a conclusion that her so-called step-sibling bond with _Roan_ was much better than this. She may have landed him in a hospital that one time, but at least she’s never had the displeasure of knowing what he sounds like when he comes.

 

(As infuriating as it is, she doubts he’d sound as good as Clarke.)

 

The thought makes her shudder - she’s not sure which one, and she has no desire to dwell on it - so it gets shaken off. Lexa rises from the bed, cringing as Clarke happily lets her know how great her newest fucktoy is by releasing more obscene sounds. She has to admit that Clarke does sound gorgeous, though she’d rather not use that word to describe her step-sister’s moans. Clarke isn’t annoyingly high-pitched, isn’t sweet or shy like Lexa’s occasional (rare) bed partners are. She’s sinfully rich, or richly sinful, or both, really.

 

(Yet another thought that Lexa forces out of her head.)

 

Something crashes in Clarke’s room, and Lexa half-hopes it was someone finally passing out, but Clarke’s loud cry reassures her both parties are still very much awake and very much still going at it.

 

This is so unfair. Lexa can’t keep blasting her music on maximum through her headphones and foolishly hope it won’t leave her with hearing impairment. Maybe she could try talking to her father about soundproofing either her room or Clarke’s. As soon as - if ever, she thinks impassively - her father and Clarke’s mother come back from yet another trip she’ll approach the subject with him. Make something up about needing to concentrate on her studies. It isn’t even really a lie. She does need to work harder in some of her AP classes. Or maybe she could persuade him and Clarke’s mother to switch rooms with Clarke ~~. A~~ ll of the second-floor bedrooms are equally spacious and her father’s room is further down the hall. It won’t get rid of Clarke’s sounds completely, but at least they will be somewhat muffled and won’t be coming from right across the hall. It’s not like they use their bedroom. Her father is almost always gone, and all of his wives are almost always with him, be it a business trip or a Caribbean cruise.

 

Her routine is familiar and calculated: brush teeth, get dressed, go for a run, shower, light breakfast, change, off to school. She goes through the steps in her head, throwing her hair up in a ponytail and hurriedly grabbing her phone from a nightstand, sighing with relief when she puts headphones in her ears and presses play. Lexa hasn’t listened to music this much in her entire life. She always found comfort in the silent emptiness of her house rather than in drowning her thoughts out with guitar riffs. She likes her thoughts. She likes being left alone with them. But, as Clarke’s headboard starts rhythmically tapping against the wall in time with the song beat in Lexa’s ears, she’s reminded once again that it’s not an option anymore. Not as long as Clarke is in the house with her.

 

Sex isn’t the only thing the girl is loud at. She constantly blasts her music and shouts along, guffaws at crappy tv shows, and slams doors. Sometimes, Lexa doesn’t quite recognize her house. Clarke Griffin’s presence irrevocably altered the reality of hollow calm that Lexa got so used to in the past seventeen years. What irks her the most is the way Clarke made herself at home. She seems perfectly content spending her time in the house, and the ease with which Clarke claimed her house as her own makes Lexa's skin crawl.

 

All of her previous step-siblings avoided staying in the house for too long. It's almost like they were afraid of being consumed by the eerie, cold silence of white walls and marble floors. Roan spent his days and nights at his friends’ and girlfriends’ houses, stopping by the Woods’ residence only to change clothes and snarl at Lexa. His little brother, Aden, was soft-spoken and barely seen. Lexa liked him best after Anya.

 

Oh, Anya was as loud as Clarke at times, but she had the decency to be loud _outside_ of house, doing whatever it is that fourteen year olds do. And she always brought frozen yogurt for Lexa on a rare occasion that she appeared home. Might be a little screwed up: the fact that a fourteen year old came and went as she pleased, the help not bothering themselves with such trivial matters as whereabouts of yet another wife’s teenage daughter, as long as her dress was clean and her stomach was full. A seven year old Lexa got more attention, of course. Not by a large margin, but still.

 

Now, Lexa’s seventeen and capable of looking after herself, Anya’s in Europe and not related to her, by blood or by law, and Clarke Griffin is by far the worst step-sibling she’s ever had. These thoughts pound at her temples as she runs past houses and trees, her ears blissfully free of earphones.

 

She’s putting her running shoes away and scowling at Clarke’s boots scattered on the floor when her step sister - almost step sister, Lexa reminds herself hopefully - descends the stairs with a tall handsome guy laughing at something he said. So she’s missed Clarke’s grand finale. Lexa can’t say she’s too unhappy about that. Judging by their appearance it was a loud one, and Lexa’s traumatized enough as it is.

 

Clarke’s ‘date’ looks… he definitely looks older than them, Lexa notes. A college senior? Graduate? She’s pretty sure the guy is breaking several laws just standing near Clarke. His large form towers over her step sister and irritation prickles all over her skin. She shrugs it off. It’s none of her business. Nothing that Clarke does is any of her business.

 

She doesn’t bother with exchanging names and pleasantries, deciding instead to hide out in the kitchen and busy herself with preparing ingredients for her pancakes while Clarke politely kicks the guy out. She’s finished carefully pouring whole wheat flour into the cup when Clarke waltz in, beige robe tied carelessly around her waist, blonde hair mussed and blue eyes sparkling. She’s the definition of ‘contentedly fucked’, and Lexa is torn between envy and annoyance. It’s not fair Clarke manages to make it look so good, too.

 

She tears her gaze away from the blonde when it strays dangerously close to Clarke’s well-defined cleavage barely hidden by the flimsy robe. Knowing Clarke - and Lexa wouldn’t claim she _knows_ her, but she _is_ sharing her living quarters with the girl - she doesn’t have anything on underneath. Lexa stomps on the urge to gulp at the thought. It’s the stress, she thinks. She might be only two weeks into the semester, but she’s got college applications to fill and a fencing competition to train for and additional class hours to sit through, and it’s all a bit taxing. Her body demands release, and it’s just her luck that her new step sister is very much not bad to look at.

 

The fact that Clarke unabashedly enjoys sex and her own body doesn’t help the weird energy buzzing in the room. Clarke’s energy. Lexa knows that her own is muted and calm. Clarke’s presence crashes and tears into it, and Lexa tells herself she hates it.

 

“Oh, boy,” Clarke drawls with fake enthusiasm, leaning on the kitchen island with both hands and looking over the counter full of ingredients. “Bran pancakes. Delicious.” Her dull tone lets Lexa know she considers them anything but.

 

Lexa doesn’t give her a glance when she replies, looking over the milk carton to see the expiration date instead. She knows it’s fresh, but she always checks before using it just to be on the safe side. “You have your own food,” she points out with a hint of irritation in her voice.

 

Clarke huffs. “I don’t,” she admits. “I didn’t get groceries this week.” She’s staring at Lexa expectantly, but Lexa only gives her a blank look.

 

“Oh,” she says, and places the milk carton back on the counter. Clarke seems to be waiting for something, but, quickly realizing she won’t get anything more out of Lexa, she rolls her eyes and opens the refrigerator to start noisily rummage through it. Lexa guesses she comes up short, because she hears a frustrated grunt and the fridge door slam. Clarke brushes past her, the incidental rubbing of her front against Lexa’s back making her stiffen, but the blonde appears unaffected as she busies herself with making coffee. Neither Lexa nor her father drink coffee. They’re tea drinkers. But the Griffins are not.

 

A bitter smell reaches her nose and Lexa resists the urge to retch, still unaccustomed to the rich scent. She looks down on one egg and a carefully measured cup of flour, just enough for two pancakes. Oh.

 

“You can eat some of mine, if you want,” the words are out of her mouth before she fully realizes what she’s saying.

 

Clarke has the expression of pure horror on her face at the suggestion, though, so she doubts she has to worry about Clarke agreeing.

 

The girl confirms her suspicions. “Yeah, over my dead body, maybe.”

 

Lexa shrugs. “Don’t bring anyone home this weekend, please.” She’s thrown a _please_ in to be polite, but there’s no mistaking it’s an order. “I plan on studying. Go to their place instead of my house.”

 

 _If you can’t go a whole weekend without fucking,_ she thinks to herself. She’s not really coming from a place of malice, but she does need to study, and being constantly exposed to Clarke’s sexcapades is exhausting. She doesn’t care how often, with whom-what number-what gender of partners Clarke has sex with. She’d just appreciate it if she didn’t have to listen to it.

 

Judging by the sharp arch of Clarke’s eyebrow, she has another idea.

 

“It’s my house, too.”

 

Right. Except technically, it’s not. And if Lexa’s lucky, not for long, either. But she’s never been particularly lucky.

 

She sighs and leaves Clarke to her coffee. When she gets out of the shower, her egg is gone and the kitchen smells of burnt omelette, with Clarke nowhere in sight.

 

//

 

Unsurprisingly, Clarke spends her Friday night someplace other than the Woods’ house, and she’s still out by Saturday afternoon. This grants Lexa the whole day of peace and quiet, and she decides to celebrate by testing her new nibs after a blissfully silent dinner.

 

She got into calligraphy when she was in eighth grade and to this day it’s an extremely soothing and satisfying hobby of hers. Maybe she should introduce Clarke to it. Sometimes, she sounds like she needs it.

 

She grits her teeth, willing the image of the infuriating blonde away. Even absent Clarke somehow manages to mess with her day. _She won’t let her_. With that decided, Lexa retrieves the package from her desk, excitement in her fingertips as she takes out the nibs and the lighter. Most people get rid of factory coating on their nibs by rubbing them with alcohol, but Lexa uses the flame method, holding the nib over fire. It feels more authentic.

 

She’s almost finished with the first nib when a loud door slam downstairs startles her, making her burn her finger. Clarke is home. Lexa listens carefully for a moment. Home, and not alone, either. But the sounds are different from the ones that usually resonate through the house when she’s with a 'date’.

 

Lexa tries to get back into her calm mindset, but her fragile peace is gone. Clarke and her guests put music on and loudly tell each other jokes Lexa has no interest in understanding. Lexa’s not one for making assumptions about people, but Clarke and her friends are so, so typical at times. Loud music and loud laughter and loud fucking, all without real substance. Without essence and care for anything.

 

When she marches down into the living room, she’s greeted by two people she wants to see even less than Clarke. Raven Reyes and Octavia Blake, high school juniors, suspected delinquents, and of course Clarke’s best friends are sprawled out on her spacious couch, and they aren’t happy to see her, either. The dimming of Raven’s smile and Octavia’s exaggerated eye-roll let her know as much. Lexa ignores them.

 

“Clarke,” she grits through her teeth. The blonde is the only one in the room whose good mood is still present. “Could you please be quieter? I’m trying to study.” She puts an emphasis on _trying_ just in case Clarke misses it, and watches as Raven joins Octavia in excessive eye-rolling. Lexa thinks it’s a pity they can’t actually get stuck that way.

 

Clarke cocks her head to the side, letting her blonde hair fall over one shoulder. She’s still wearing her sunglasses from outside, and she’s got bedhead, like always, blonde tresses brushed through with impatient fingers. If they were hers or someone else’s hungry ones this morning, Lexa’s not sure. It still looks unfairly good.

 

"Well,” Clarke says. “You have headphones, don’t you?”

 

Lexa locks her jaw, glaring at Clarke silently, but all she gets in response is a lazy, amused smile.

 

Octavia snickers in her hand as Lexa turns around and leaves.

 

“Your sister’s kind of a bitch,” she hears Raven say as she climbs the stairs.

 

“She’s not my fucking sister,” Clarke snaps, and Lexa definitely catches steel in her voice.

 

She wonders, not for the first time, what she could’ve possibly done to offend Clarke. She’s been nothing but coldly polite when she asked Clarke to stop having sex so loudly. Maybe it’s the ‘coldly’ part. Or, maybe, Clarke’s just kind of a bitch herself.

 

Lexa enters her room and maybe she slams the door behind her a little harder than necessary, but it’s not like they’ll hear her, too engrossed in whatever it is average junior high school students do on a Saturday evening.

 

She’s assumed Clarke would be out partying the whole weekend. She sincerely hopes this doesn’t mean she’s brought the party home. But Raven and Octavia leave rather quickly, and Lexa sighs with relief as the house once again grows quiet, save for occasional noise coming from Clarke’s bedroom. As long as it’s not moans, Lexa doesn’t mind much. Her standards are that low nowadays.

 

Since Clarke has decided to take it easy tonight, Lexa manages to squeeze in a little bit of calligraphy practice before bed. Her mood elevates even higher when she emerges from her night shower, fresh and squeaky clean, and she’s surprised to find herself humming under her breath. All that music, she laughs under her breath.

 

Suddenly overcome with desire to listen to her new playlist before falling asleep, she reaches for her phone, only to find it isn’t there. She must've left it on the kitchen counter, or in the living room. Lexa would’ve been content with leaving it there, but she has to wake up earlier than usual tomorrow, and she won’t hear the alarm all the way from downstairs. So she sighs and throws her sleeping boxers on, not bothering with wearing anything else. The house is quiet, so Clarke must’ve left. Fascinating, she thinks - how quickly she was conditioned to think 'quiet’ equals 'no Clarke’.

 

She pads to the stairwell, lazily toweling her hair dry and looking under her feet. It’s only thanks to her fast reflexes, fostered through fencing and lacrosse, that she manages to grab onto the rail and not tumble down the stairs when she hears someone gasp. Well, this serves as a reminder that being conditioned to think something doesn’t necessarily make it true. Exhibit A: Clarke standing on the middle of stairs and gaping at her, both of them surrounded by complete silence save for Lexa’s thumping heart.

 

'Quiet’ doesn’t equal 'no Clarke’, after all.

 

Lexa scrambles to put the towel around her chest, but those praised reflexes fail her when she needs them the most, and she watches, mortified, as it falls to the ground. Leaving her standing practically naked before her step sister. She thanks her past self for at least tugging her boxers on. She also promises to throttle her for thinking it was a good idea to wander around with nothing else on. Lexa keeps forgetting she’s not the sole owner of this house anymore.

 

Clarke’s blue eyes are wide and her jaw is slacked as it hits the floor like the towel did a moment ago. When Lexa bends to retrieve the traitorous piece of cloth from the ground, Clarke sucks in a sharp breath and then looks like she isn’t breathing at all. Lexa freezes, again.

 

Clarke’s eyes are the only part of the blonde that moves, and they move all over her body. Her step sister is unashamedly drinking her in, and Lexa’s never felt more exposed than in this moment, despite being (barely) covered by a towel and underwear.

 

Clarke’s still not blinking and not breathing, and her eyes are still roaming over her. Lexa scowls.

 

“Can you turn around?” She snaps, not even bothering with pretending to be polite.

 

Politeness can be overlooked when one is practically violated. For once, Clarke listens, mutely turning her back on her and standing perfectly still. She’s tense and coiled, gripping onto the rail, but Lexa doesn’t have time for her step sister’s inner turmoil. She practically runs away, clutching the towel to her chest and exhaling shakily once she’s within the safe confines of her room. Her cheeks feel hot, as do the tips of her ears.

 

Well. That was eventful. Lexa forces herself not to think about Clarke’s astonished gaze as she frantically puts a duffel bag together for tomorrow’s fencing practice - usually she does it in the morning, but if she doesn’t busy herself with something, she’ll probably burst. Knickers — check. Clarke’s blue eyes were almost comically wide. Perhaps, she’ll find it funny once the mortification wears off. Jacket - check. Why did Clarke even stare at her? Why didn’t she avert her gaze? Would Lexa have done it if roles were reversed? That’s too many questions and she can’t find her water bottle. She stuffs her gloves inside next. Gloves - check. A mask. Mask - check. Clarke looked beyond shocked, as astonished as Lexa felt, probably. But something in her gaze left Lexa’s stomach unsettled. Almost primal. Almost hungry.

 

Lexa curses as her finger gets caught in the bag's zipper, and gives up on trying to locate her water bottle. She’ll do it in the morning.

 

It’s only once she slips into sweatpants and a t-shirt that she realizes she completely forgot about her phone, but she’s already in bed and frankly dreading facing Clarke again after what just happened.

 

Clarke is quiet for the rest of the night.

 

//

 

Days blur by, and it’s Friday again.

 

Clarke hasn’t mentioned the stairwell incident, and neither has Lexa. They silently agree to peacefully co-exist and never bring it up. And either Lexa is getting used to it, or Clarke’s become considerably quieter during sex. It’s still annoying, and Lexa still wishes she’d do it anywhere else than in the house, but it’s not as loud.

 

Lexa’s successfully passed her quiz and is very much looking forward to doing some light reading for class. She took AP literature as a fun elective and hasn’t yet regretted that decision. She’s actually looking forward to writing an essay on Sappho at the end of the semester. An obvious choice of work of literature, yes, but a fun one nonetheless. Where’s the fun in being openly gay if she can’t flaunt her sexuality in some particularly disgruntled old faces?

 

As Lexa predicted, the fridge is nearly empty when she goes to check it. Usually, she buys groceries every Sunday, but with the newest addition to the household they run out faster. She’s actually surprised they’ve made it this far. Clarke’s affinity for fast food joints is probably something to be thankful for. Clarke’s eating habits generally concern Lexa. Not that she’s concerned about her, of course. Only her diet.

 

Maybe she should ask Clarke if she needs anything from the store.

 

Lately, her weekends have been full of surprises and unnecessary partial nudity. In other news, Clarke should really learn to close her bedroom door.

 

Lexa nearly trips at the sight before her when she reaches Clarke’s room. Crimson bra and a toned, full ass in a matching thong. Pale skin. Bare feet. Smooth back with fading scratches and two glaring, angry hickeys just below her shoulder blade. So that’s what she’s into. Somehow, Lexa isn’t surprised. She’s most likely heard the exact moment those hickeys were burned into Clarke’s skin.

 

Blue eyes twinkle with wickedness as they study her through a full body mirror. Clarke’s reflection is cocky and confident. Lexa’s reflection is startled and wide-eyed. Thanks to the mirror, she’s presented with both back and front view of Clarke clad in nothing but suggestive underwear, and this isn’t what she needs today.

 

Lexa’s gaze skims over Clarke’s generous cleavage, and she swallows, snapping her eyes up to meet mischievous blue.

 

Clarke’s giving her a lazy, knowing smirk.

 

“See something you like?”

 

“No,” the reply is curt, too curt, and Clarke’s smirk grows wider. “I’m going out for groceries.”

 

The blonde nods. Lexa watches as her throat bobs with a swallow. Watches muscles ripple under marked skin as Clarke turns around, and - oh. The reflection doesn’t quite do her justice.

 

Clarke’s smirk is a wide, wicked grin, and Lexa abruptly turns and leaves, completely forgetting to ask if Clarke needs anything from the store.

 

Her trip lasts two hours. Driving to and back from town is a pain, and it’s moments like this that make Lexa wish they didn’t live so far from the nearest supermarket. The scenery more than makes up for such small inconveniences, though. She grew up surrounded by trees and crisp fresh air and quiet. The town doesn’t have that luxury.

 

As beautiful as the scenery is, Lexa is very happy to just finally get home after a long day. She parks her father's Lexus in its usual spot and gets the grocery bags, eagerly hurrying towards the house. But, as she grabs the doorknob, she finds it locked.

 

It's locked and Lexa feels the cold realization trickle down her spine as she remembers not grabbing house keys when she made her escape.

 

God, and the day started out so great. _Clarke_ , she growls in her mind irrationally, trying the doorknob one more time. It all went downhill after she accidentally got an eyeful of blonde and skin and…

 

She sighs and puts the bags down, sitting on the porch and trying to calm down. Clarke didn’t make her forget her keys. Well, in a way, she did, but it’s not really her fault. Solely Lexa’s. It’s also Lexa’s fault, in a way, that she still doesn’t have Clarke’s number. Weird, she knows; living with someone for almost a month now and not having any way of contacting them. She had many opportunities of asking, but then again, so did Clarke, didn’t she? And yet.

 

Lexa’s becoming more and more certain that she and Clarke are not made for a tender sisterly bond.

 

There’s a small, foolish part of her that hopes Clarke will be back soon. Ten, twenty minutes, and she’ll see the blonde get out of someone’s car, eyes sparkling and smile wide, waving her fingers in a teasing goodbye. But Clarke was getting ready rather thoroughly tonight. Well, thoroughly by Clarke’s standards. Her step sister’s not one to spend hours looking in the mirror, so what Lexa walked in on was Clarke choosing the most important part of her outfit for the evening. And, judging by her choice, she had no plans of coming back home any time soon.

 

Sleeping in the car it is then. Lexa’s not about to smash windows and the Woods don’t believe in spare keys under rugs. Her only option is her father’s Lexus. At least it’s somewhat spacious and not entirely uncomfortable. Lexa silently thanks Indra for not having fencing practice on Saturdays. She wouldn’t be able to perform well after spending the night in the car. Fencing is concentration and sharp mind; Lexa won’t have either of those tomorrow morning.

 

She settles in, adjusts the front seat so that it’s laying down completely and promptly passes out. There’s a fleeting mourning for the ice cream she’s bought - it will go bad, no doubt - and then she’s asleep.

 

Her awakening is as rude as the entire situation.There’s knocking. Annoying, constant, loud knocking. She mutters for Clarke to shut up in her sleepy confusion, but the knocking intensifies, and she’s jarred back into consciousness, her neck sore and her limbs aching. It’s disorienting, waking up somewhere other than her bed. Panic sets in for just a second before she realizes where she is. The knocking's still present and still persistent.

 

Lexa rolls her eyes. Clarke continues to knock on her car window, looking incredulous and more than a little tipsy. The arch of her eyebrow is just a little bit too exaggerated. She still hasn’t stopped knocking, and Lexa’s pretty sure that if she were to open the door right now, she’d knock Clarke on her ass. Clarke doesn’t wear lipstick, but if she did, it’d probably be smeared. Her mascara is smudged under her eyes, looking like excessive eyeliner, angry and dark.

 

Clarke giggles. “Why are you sleeping in the car?”

 

Because you wore a matching set, Lexa wants to sass. She climbs out, letting fresh air fill her lungs. Unfortunately, Clarke is standing close to her, just a touch too close, and the smell of smoke and alcohol and something cheap and primal hits her nostrils instead. She winces. Clarke sways. Lexa hopes to hell and back that Clarke hasn’t lost her keys.

 

“I got groceries,” she replies and goes to grab the bags. Clarke tries to help, but Lexa manages to stop her. She’s really not in the mood to pick apples up from the sidewalk. They reach the door rather quickly, and Lexa waits for Clarke to open it. Clarke simply stares at her. Only now does Lexa notice Clarke doesn’t have her bag. Shit. Great.

 

“Clarke,” she begins, her voice falsely calm. “Where is your bag?”

 

Her step sister blinks. "On the counter.”

 

"Okay. Then where are your keys?” Lexa’s speaking slowly and quietly.

 

“In the bag.” Clarke looks thoughtful for a second. “On the counter,” she then adds, looking proud of herself, like she just got an answer right on a test.

 

Lexa’s mind goes a mile a minute. “Wait, so you already opened the door?”

 

The blonde gives her a mildly judgmental look, as if saying ‘duh’, before turning the doorknob and gesturing for Lexa to enter. Lexa resists the urge to bash her head against the doorpost and brusquely walks in, hastily throwing her shoes off and going to the kitchen island. She dumps the bags on it, feeling Clarke’s stare on her back the entire time.

 

Something occurs to her, then. “How did you know I was in the car?” Her seat was reclined. It was dark. So it wasn’t possible for Clarke - for drunk, swaying Clarke - to notice her sleeping there.

 

Clarke shrugs. “You weren’t in your room.” She’s awfully noncommittal when she’s drunk, Lexa notes, and then Clarke’s words set in.

 

“You went into my room?” This is crossing boundaries. Well, boundaries were crossed when Lexa was given detailed knowledge of what Clarke sounds like in bed, but this - this is trespassing.

 

The blonde shrugs again, sloppily crossing her arms on her chest. “Door was open,” she says. “It’s never open. So I checked.”

 

And then went out and looked for her?

 

Lexa opens her mouth, ready to question Clarke further, but the blonde is busy studying a lock of her hair, bringing it close to her nose and crossing her eyes as she tries to focus her gaze on it. It’s clearly no use trying to talk to her. So Lexa drops it.

 

She’s putting the groceries away, and Clarke is silently watching her. Unnerving as it is, it’s also kind of… nice. Calm. It’s the first time they are in the same room without glaring at each other or trading snide remarks. And all they had to do was get Clarke hammered.

 

“Oh,” Lexa remembers as she closes the fridge door and finishes stuffing bags inside other bags. “Can you give me your number?”

 

Clarke waggles her eyebrows, of course, but she’s alert enough to do it, slurring the numbers as she does. Lexa calls her, just to make sure the number’s correct, and nods to herself when Clarke’s phone rings in her bag. She ends the call.

 

“Fuck,” Clarke mutters. “He’s looking for me. I told him to go away.”

 

She’s mildly concerned with Clarke’s drunken remarks since it sounds like her step sister got herself a stalker, but Clarke doesn’t appear too phased by it. Lexa still makes a mental note to talk to her about it, somehow. She knows Clarke can take care of herself, but, well. She’s not judging, but Clarke’s lifestyle doesn’t exactly scream ‘safe choices and wise decisions’. All it takes is the wrong guy or the wrong girl.

 

Clarke pushes herself off of the doorpost with visible effort and tries to get to her bag, but high heels and drunk people are never a good combination. Lexa barely manages to catch her around her waist, and Clarke narrowly escapes splitting her head open against the marble floor. She’s warm and squirming. Lexa is trying to help her stand upright, but Clarke isn’t making it easy. In the end, they end up sliding to the floor, Clarke clinging to Lexa’s jacket. The floor is cold and uncomfortable. Clarke is warm and uncomfortable.

 

“Oops,” Clarke says and lets out a husky laugh. Sex isn’t the only time when she sounds gorgeous. It isn’t fair.

 

She stands up, finally, tugging Clarke up as well. The blonde manages to trip on nothing twice, and Lexa steadies her each time. Clarke’s arms are bare, and her skin is soft to her touch, a sharp contrast against Lexa’s fingers, calloused from years of fencing. Clarke looks like a promise of hangover and regret come morning. She’s heated, almost feverish. Lexa wonders if she’ll be able to leave her room tomorroe. Wonders if Clarke will wake up with her throat sore and her body aching.

 

Clarke’s eyes are glassy, crystal blue, and her tongue is red and quick when it wets her lips. She’s not swaying anymore. Perhaps Lexa’s strong hold on her is responsible for that. She’s afraid that Clarke will crumble if she lets go. That tongue appears again, this time slower, wetter. Lexa’s gaze is drawn to it, automatically, irrevocably. Clarke’s lips, pink and parted, get closer and closer. She’s leaning in, Lexa’s brain screams at her. She’s drunk and she’s leaning in-

 

Lexa recoils just in time to see blue eyes flutter closed.

 

They almost-

 

“Clarke,” Her voice sounds strangled, almost pained. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

_What does it look like, Sherlock? She’s drunk and dateless. Go from there._

 

Clarke opens her eyes, visibly confused. Lexa expects her to jump away from her, to slap her, even, to claw her way out of her grip. But Clarke's never been particularly predictable. Instead, she shrugs, grabs the back of Lexa's neck, and smashes their mouths together. Her tongue seeks entrance almost immediately, and Lexa’s too shocked to do anything but grant it.

 

All of her senses are hyperaware, suddenly; assaulted by everything Clarke. Clarke tastes like alcohol and something sweet. She smells like alcohol too, but there’s a hint of spicy and soft underneath, teasing her. It’s strangely enticing.

 

She’s kissing her step sister in the kitchen at two in the morning. And her lips are warm and so very soft against her own. Clarke knows what she’s doing. Something clicks in Lexa’s brain, and she understands all those people coming in and out of her step sister’s bedroom just a bit more.

 

Doesn’t mean she’s about to become one of them.

 

Clarke’s back hits the kitchen island with a soft thud when Lexa pushes her away. Clarke steadies herself, eyes still closed, her tongue licking her lips. It looks like she’s trying to savor Lexa’s lingering taste rather than simply wetting her lips. Clarke’s breathing is ragged when she finally opens her eyes, her pupils are blown to the brim of blue iris, looking almost black. And positively hungry. Mouth wet, glistening, puffy with the kiss.

 

Lexa wonders if she looks the same way. (She tries not to think about whether she feels the way Clarke looks).

 

It’s astonishing that her voice doesn’t tremble. “I won’t sleep with you.” She doesn’t even know what prompted her to say this.

 

“I’m not asking you to.” Clarke’s voice is raspy beyond belief; her voice seems to have lowered a couple of octaves. She doesn’t look or sound like she means her words.

 

Lexa shakes her head. “Good.”

 

Good.

 

She practically stumbles to her room, leaving Clarke standing in the kitchen, alone.

 

//

 

Their parents – Lexa cringes at the wording – their parents are still on a trip. The cruise ended a week ago, but they stumbled upon this picturesque little town in Europe and they are staying for however long it’s needed to eat croissants and wander narrow paved streets.

 

Her father doesn’t call her. Clarke informs her of this after a short talk with her mother. It mostly consisted of Clarke’s occasional grunts and Lexa’s silent questioning as to why Clarke is having this talk when Lexa’s trying to watch a documentary. She was also wondering why Clarke was pretending to read next to her while she was watching the documentary. Maybe she should move the TV to her room. No, that wouldn’t be fair, the living room is a neutral territory. She doesn’t have the monopoly on it. Not anymore.

 

They haven’t mentioned the kiss. Well. Verbally. Clarke is everywhere, and she’s stopped believing in the concept of pants, too.

 

She’s very, very confusing. Lexa catches her glances, dark and heavy. She can’t tell if Clarke wants to punch her or kiss her. Maybe, to Clarke, those are one and the same. Lexa’s certain of one thing: after that unfortunate night their dynamic has shifted, and she has no idea where they stand now. She liked it a lot more when they were resentful, unwilling step-siblings. Now, the control is slipping away from her and Clarke is much better at handling the situation than she is. Then again, Clarke’s the one to have put them in this situation.

 

 _A fabulous lie,_ Lexa thinks, and pushes the memory of her own lips moving against Clarke’s to the back of her mind.

 

She’s downstairs doing her homework when Clarke starts to cry out and moan, coupled with another set of distinctively female sounds. A girl today. That’s refreshing. The girl isn’t as vocal about her pleasure as Clarke. None of Clarke’s lovers are as far as Lexa can tell from her unwilling observations.

 

The sounds she make are loud enough to penetrate the heavy oak door of her father’s study. Lexa grits her teeth and goes to turn up the volume, only to discover it’s already on maximum. And yes, she doesn’t hear Clarke as clearly anymore, but now the music doesn’t let her concentrate and the music doesn’t erase the knowledge that Clarke is getting her brains fucked out.

 

This is ridiculous.

 

She doesn’t even think as she shoots to her feet and marches up the stairs. She really should have. The door to Clarke’s room is wide open, and she’s treated to a lovely sight of Clarke riding the unknown brunette.

 

(Does Clarke even know her name? Sometimes, they don’t know Clarke’s.)

 

Clarke’s hair is tangled up in her own fingers and her hips are moving with abandon. Lexa tries, she really, really does, but her gaze still falls to the place where their hips are joined, and she quickly learns Clarke doesn’t mind toys in her bed. This is so not what she needs right now.

 

It all happens within a short space of time. No more than a second, really. Lexa’s gaze snaps up to meet Clarke, and Clarke, oh. She doesn’t show even a tiny sign of stopping.

 

Instead, she looks Lexa square in the eye, and her shapely thighs move with renewed vigor. Her pupils are wide, wider than they were when she caught Lexa’s lips with her own, wider than when she gripped the edge of the kitchen island, breathing harsh and cheeks rosy. It’s clear as day that Clarke’s trying to get a rise out of her, though Lexa has yet to find the reason. Maybe, this is the reason. The hot flash of _something_ in her belly as she watches her step-sister ride some lowlife to a fake orgasm.

 

Clarke’s lips stretch in a tiny smirk, and Lexa snaps out of it, scowl back on her face.

 

“Clarke.” The girl beneath Clarke jumps up in surprise, gripping pale hips and prompting Clarke to release another long moan. The movement must have driven the toy deeper inside her, and Lexa isn’t about to think of that right now. She snarls. “Shut the fuck up.”

 

She slams Clarke’s door, and blue eyes are the last thing she sees, dark and hooded.

 

//

 

Two similar encounters later Lexa decides she needs to take the edge off as well. Clarke’s got her wound too tight with her confusing mind games and midterms are just around the corner. She needs her head clear and void of distractions.

 

When she asks Luna Calder if she’d like to have dinner with her, the girl looks like she’s lost her mind, but still agrees with a shy smile on her face. She was in Lexa’s history class and has been giving Lexa curious glances since last spring.

 

This semester they don’t have any classes together, so Lexa figures she’s perfect for her. She’s sweet, cute and might be open to having fun without attachments and responsibilities. At least Lexa hopes so. She isn’t very well-versed in the art of one-night stands, but she doesn’t have the time or the mental energy to go hunting for willing victims at parties like Clarke does.

 

She’s pretty sure one-night stands don’t have dinner and don’t go inside for a Disney movie and popcorn, but somehow that’s exactly what Luna and her end up doing. To be fair, Lexa’s coy 'would you like to watch a movie’ had been a very clear – in her opinion – hint, but Luna saw the stack of DVD’s and practically squealed. And well, Lexa’s not about to say no to that face. The night is still young and the house is blissfully free of Clarke, at least, she hopes so. She shot her a quick message on the way home asking her to go do something somewhere else because she’s having a guest over.

 

The decision that’s definitely in the top five of the worst decisions she’s made in her life.

 

Lexa knows she’s not stupid. She likes to think she’s a bright person. She also likes to think she understands people to some extent. But that extent is clearly not enough with Clarke.

 

The dawning realization that she’s basically invited Clarke to torment her for an entire evening settles in when Clarke plops down next to Luna and her on the couch, eyes alight and hair still damp from the shower. Lexa was just about to lean in and capture Luna’s waiting, shy mouth with her own, but the movement jarred her away from the girl, and it’s by some miracle Luna and her didn’t bump foreheads in the process.

 

“Oh, Little Mermaid! My favorite. Good choice,” Clarke happily announces, grabbing a handful of popcorn and putting it in her mouth one by one. Of course, since it’s Clarke, she can’t just eat popcorn like a normal person. She has to coax pieces from her hand with her tongue. A tongue that then licks pink lips to catch the lingering trace of salted caramel left behind. Lexa’s own recipe. Clarke clearly likes it, if the appreciative moan she lets out at the taste is any indication.

 

Lexa barely stops herself from growling. “You hate Disney movies,” she points out.

 

Luna is merely blinking at them, a polite, confused smile of a person not in on a joke frozen on her face.

 

Clarke does hate Disney movies. She distinctly remembers Clarke scowling at her DVD’s and saying, and she quotes, 'ugh I hate those.’

 

The blonde fakes an offended expression however. “What? No I don’t! I love this one.” She grins. “It’s better down where it’s wetter.” And gives Lexa a slow, smug wink.

 

She doesn’t know how winks can be smug, but Clarke certainly possesses the knowledge and the ability to make them so.

 

Lexa seethes.

 

“Clarke.” She ignores the widening of blue eyes at that. “Would you mind going to your room, please?” It’s rude, she knows, but she doesn’t have time to be coy about it. She just wants Clarke gone.

 

Clarke appears offended once again. If it weren’t for her eyes, mocking and bright, Lexa would’ve believed her. “Are you telling me to get lost? Seriously? It’s my house too. I’m about to become your little sister in six months. Griffin-Woods and all. Don’t you think we should learn to share?”

 

Lexa really, really wants to slap her. Both for being annoying and for the twisted implications in her suggestive tone. She’s about to – grab her, punch her, kiss her, she doesn’t fucking know – move, but Luna grips her hand that’s still resting on her thigh, shyly moving it away and simultaneously telling Lexa to calm down. “Maybe I should go?” She suggests quietly.

 

“You don’t have to,” Lexa tells her, and it’s true. Clarke ruined their night: she knows that even if she takes Luna to her room now, the mood would still be gone, at least for her. The least she can do is let the girl finish the movie.

 

“Okay,” Luna says with an easy smile, and settles back into the couch, eyes trained on the screen. Lexa blinks. She won’t lie, she definitely expected something more than this… complacency. Perhaps, she read her wrong, too.

 

She resists the urge to slap the back of Clarke’s head when she hears her mutter 'how sweet’ sarcastically under her breath.

 

//

 

Luna’s cab arrives ten minutes earlier than Lexa’s expected, and her cup of tea stays unfinished. She walks the girl to the car, and doesn’t quite know what to do. Luna decides for her, giving her another easy smile and pecking her cheek.

 

“Thank you for dinner. And the movie. And popcorn. It was nice. I had fun.”

 

“Me too. And I’m sorry for… She’s, uh…”

 

“I get it,” Luna interrupts her, still smiling. “Step-siblings are tough to deal with, sometimes.”

 

Oh, Lexa thinks. You have no idea.

 

Luna leaves with a smile and a bittersweet touch of almost in the air. They both know there won’t be another movie night in the future. Clarke and her however; there are many nights in their future that Lexa isn’t looking forward to in the slightest.

 

Clarke is still there when Lexa walks back in, shedding the leather jacket she threw on when she saw Luna to her ride. She’s standing in the hallway right near the door like she was waiting for Lexa, ready to get under her skin. Still present, with her smirk and her eyes and – she’s just so, so infuriating and Lexa finds herself at the breaking point.

 

Clarke opens her mouth to say something, and Lexa happily lets herself break.

 

“I hope you’re happy,” she snarls, advancing on Clarke.

 

To her credit, the blonde doesn’t appear frightened in the slightest; her blue eyes simply widen as Lexa backs her into a wall. She lets out a surprised gasp when her back hits the cold, solid concrete, but Lexa is still there, eyes blazing, not letting her escape.

 

“I hope you’re fucking _satisfied_ ,” Lexa continues, and watches as Clarke’s eyes darken at the word. Lexa almost laughs at how predictable she is. “Except you’re not, are you? Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing? Because I do, Clarke. But maybe you don’t know what it is that you want.” Lexa leans in, snarl still in place. Clarke does gulp this time, backing further away from her instinctively. “Let me help you out, then. You want to sleep with me, but you’re too much of a coward to say it. Or, maybe, you’re just that twisted and this game you’ve been playing turns you on far too much for you to stop. Admit it,” she’s so close she can feel Clarke’s breath on her face, minty and fast. “You want me, don’t you? You’re hoping I break and jump into your bed if you push me far enough.”

 

Clarke still hasn’t said anything; she hasn’t moved, either. Her eyes alternate between Lexa’s furious eyes and her lips. In the end her lips win.

 

Lexa’s still too after her speech, waiting for Clarke to make the next move. They’re frozen for several long, torturous seconds; then, Lexa feels Clarke’s hand slide up her arm, gripping onto her bicep. Blue eyes are practically black as Clarke lifts them to meet her stare again.

 

“Fine,” Lexa growls, and surges forward, swallowing Clarke's moan with her mouth.

 

She doesn't taste quite like Lexa remembers. No alcohol and smoke. Only mint and pure _Clarke_. Lexa can't exactly describe it, but it's heavy and intoxicating. Clarke's making small needy noises in the back of her throat, and that translates into a wonderful taste, too. She's been kissing her for only a second, but she already feels like she's about to implode.

 

She's scared to realize she can't wait to taste all of Clarke. Feel her throbbing under her mouth, hot and heady.

 

“Fuck,” the rough gasp falls from Clarke's lips like a curse and a command. Lexa's the one to tear her mouth away, resting her forehead on the blonde's. It isn't some misguided affection. Lexa simply feels like she'll fall if she doesn't find something to ground her. So she clings to Clarke, grasping at her waist and practically melding into her, the wall holding them both up. It doesn't look like she minds. Their breathing is loud and harsh, and they are so close they are breathing into each other.

 

Clarke chuckles, raspy and hot. “Well,” she drawls shakily. “You got me. I did cockblock you tonight. Sorry. The least I could do is let you fuck me, I guess.”

 

She's got Clarke pressed against the wall, leaving fingerprints on the curve of her waist, and somehow it still feels like Clarke's winning. Lexa will be damned before she lets that happen.

 

Clarke's pajama shorts are silky and soft and very easy to maneuver her hand in. She still has her left hand squeezing the blonde's waist, almost to the point of bruising, but not quite – at least she hopes so. Her right hand is impatient as it travels south, roughly pushing the shorts down. The blonde helps her with her pajamas, kicking them off and sending them flying somewhere; neither girl particularly cares. No panties. Clarke's becoming predictable.

 

But, while Lexa had a vague idea about Clarke's panties or lack thereof, she absolutely didn't expect her to be so wonderfully, almost embarrassingly _soaked_.

 

She whispers an awed 'oh god' right as Clarke lets out a sweet, soft moan at having Lexa's fingers finally exploring her. As much as Lexa wants to pretend she's simply doing this to get off and get it over with, she can't help but take her time spreading Clarke's lips, marveling at the way they seem to suck on her fingertips. The sloppy, slurping sound makes her shiver.

 

“Fuck.” She mutters hotly against Clarke's mouth. “You're... You're so wet. Fuck.”

 

This time, Clarke's groan is one of mild annoyance. “Knew you'd be a talker,” she huffs. Before Lexa has a chance to ask what's her reasoning, Clarke slides her hands up Lexa's biceps, purring at the muscles she finds rippling under skin, and tangles them in chestnut locks, tugging Lexa forward gently, but insistently. Their lips meet again, and this kiss is lazy and thorough, unlike the previous one full of anger and pent up frustration. But still so, so exhilarating. Clarke's tongue slides against hers effortlessly and teasingly; tauntingly, almost. Lexa's the one with her hand cupping Clarke in the most intimate of ways, and yet, it's Clarke who seemingly has control.

 

The thought causes her to growl low in her throat, sending shudders through Clarke's body. The way Lexa licks into her mouth next, flicking her tongue against the roof, has the blonde mewling; but the way Lexa thrusts two fingers inside her has Clarke crying out. She curls them upwards, stroking fast and hard, and Clarke very nearly shatters.

 

In her childish determination to gain the upper hand, she doesn't even realize that Clarke's sounds are different from the ones she let Lexa hear all these weeks. Sweeter, quieter, breathier; but still filled with that rich, husky quality that had Lexa constantly on edge. Genuine.

 

Desperate.

 

Lexa thumbs at Clarke's clit, and the blonde chokes into her mouth, letting out a sharp cry. The scent of her arousal reaches Lexa. Or, maybe, she's been breathing her in for some time, and it's only now that it registered in her hazy brain. She smells the same way she sounds. Gorgeous, absolutely fucking _gorgeous_ : musky and heady and sweet. She wants to drop to her knees and drink everything Clarke has to offer, but the blonde is scratching at her neck and moaning nonstop into her mouth, and Lexa doesn't want to rob her of the impending pleasure. For purely selfish reasons. She wants to watch her fall apart.

 

It's all so deliciously wrong.

 

The angle is awkward, and her wrist begins to throb with dull ache, so she snarls into Clarke's lips impatiently and squats slightly, only to hoist the blonde up, grabbing under her hip with her free hand and tugging her up. Clarke's other leg comes up to entwine Lexa's waist, as well, the wall supporting her back, and Lexa stands up, driving Clarke up with her. She's open, spread before Lexa, and practically screaming as the maneuver drives Lexa's long fingers deeper inside her. Lexa groans as the blonde squeezes around her fingers, pulsing rhythmically. Not coming yet, but very, very close to it, she thinks. Her cunt is suckling on Lexa's fingers; it's not long before Clarke implodes.

 

And she's eager to witness that, having been teased with her moans for over a month.

 

Clarke's cries are short and sharp, in tune with messy, sloppy sounds her cunt makes as Lexa drives into her. “I... Uh! Fuck! More,” she whimpers. Lexa increases her already breakneck speed, but Clarke claws at her shoulder with her blunt nails, shaking her head. “Mmm... fingers... more,” she pants. “Another one.”

 

Lexa moans with her as she adds the third finger, palming Clarke's ass with her other hand. She feels on the verge of passing out herself. It's been a while since she had a girl this way. Dirty, in the open, in the hallway of her house, partially clothed – fully clothed, in Lexa's case. The louder Clarke gets, the more she clings to her, the harder it is for Lexa to resist throwing her to the floor and fucking her all night long.

 

As always, Clarke is not making it easy.

 

It takes Lexa's thumb back on Clarke's clit, drawing uneven shaky circles, and her tongue back in Clarke's mouth, and the blonde arches her back off of the wall, tearing her lips away from Lexa's and opening her mouth in a silent scream as she freezes for a whole second before breaking.

 

Lexa's entranced as she watches her freeze up. Her body is one taut string; the tendons in her neck are so tense Lexa's half-afraid they'll tear. But it's so, so beautiful. There's really no point in denying it anymore; not when Lexa's knuckle-deep in her stepsister as she's coming around her fingers.

 

Clarke Griffin is unfairly, unabashedly beautiful.

 

She feels Clarke start to pulsate uncontrollably before she hears her let out an almost pained scream. Her legs, still entwined around her waist, start to tremble. She bucks against Lexa, writhing and screaming. Lexa remembers Clarke's back, covered in scratches and marks, and gets an idea that just might be one of the best she ever got.

 

She leans in and closes her teeth on Clarke's neck, and the answering bucking of her hips almost throws Lexa back several steps. She digs her nails into Clarke's ass, trying to hold onto something, and that does it.

 

Clarke's cunt pulses again, stronger this time, and Lexa feels a gush of wetness cover her palm as Clarke comes again.

 

“Lexa!” The way Clarke screams her name makes Lexa wish for this moment to never end. Nails scratch helplessly at her shoulders as Clarke trashes against her. There's grim satisfaction in knowing she made her come twice, in knowing that the orgasms were so close to one another. Clarke smells of fresh sweat and citrus shampoo. She nuzzles the hollow of her neck as she gently unclamps her teeth and slowly pushes her fingers in and out of Clarke, helping her ride her high out.

 

She didn't come, and yet she feels boneless and spent. Exactly how Clarke looks. She is messed up blonde hair and unfocused blue eyes and a dopey, lazy smirk and a tongue caught between teeth as she finally comes to it and looks at Lexa. This is the smuggest she's seen her, and that's saying something.

 

Clarke got exactly what she wanted, didn't she? And so did Lexa. And that is the thought, the realization, that makes her take fingers out of Clarke and back away, staring at the blonde like she's seeing her for the first time. Freshly fucked, barely standing, leaning against the wall so she doesn't fall, and a hint of a perfectly satisfied smile. Top wrinkled and shorts nowhere to be seen.

 

This silence is a sharp contrast against mere seconds ago.

 

Lexa turns on her heels and leaves, Clarke's scent fresh on her hand. She doesn't lick her fingers clean when she washes the feel of her away in the shower, and her orgasm is angry and dull as she fucks herself in her bed.

 

Clarke's scent lingers on her fingertips, and she clenches her hand in a fist as she falls asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	2. Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
> 
> and follow me on:   
> [tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com/)   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thegeralehane)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thegeralehane)
> 
> enjoy your read!

Lexa still can't believe she actually fucked Clarke.

 

It's been several days and she's been actively avoiding her step sister. A title that makes bile rise to her throat. Fortunately, they don't exactly have an opportunity to discuss what happened. Her father and Abby come back from a trip only to announce they’re leaving in two weeks again. Something about securing an international deal in Japan. Neither Clarke nor Lexa are particularly surprised. They simply nod and shrug noncommittally when her father lets them know over dinner, trying his best to sound apologetic. “It's business season,” he says, “Lexa knows how it is. Right, Lex?”

 

Lexa hates any variation of her name, and she knows 'business season' has lasted seventeen years and is still going strong. But she keeps those thoughts to herself and only nods, not meeting Clarke's eyes. She's been doing that a lot. Or _not_ doing that a lot.

 

How exactly does one look their step sibling in the eye after they fucked their brains out?

 

She's yet to find the answer so she keeps her eyes downcast, slowly chewing and swallowing. Clarke, on the other hand, keeps the conversation going; mostly with snide remarks that their parents don't see through, either not understanding or not caring enough about the hidden malice behind faux politeness. In Lexa's humble opinion, the dinner is a disaster but the adults appear unfazed by the silent tension. Maybe that tension is felt by her and no one else?

 

But Clarke's gaze burns through her, dark and heavy, and she has her answer. She's not sure she likes it.

 

“Thank you, dear,” her father says pleasantly. Lexa's eyes automatically raise to his face but his are trained on Abby with something akin to fondness in them. “Dinner was delicious.”

 

Lexa has to admit it was. Abby quickly adapted to their particular diet and learned to cook highly nutritional, boring food but with added personal touch. Her own cooking is still better, of course, but Abby's a fast learner. She might miss her a tiny bit when she's gone. The woman doesn't crowd her and doesn't try to become the mother Lexa's never had. She did have a mom. She doesn't remember her, but she did have a mom. And Abby respects that.

 

She steals a glance at Clarke. Her step sister is staring at her practically full plate with barely hidden contempt. Abby tried to gently chide her for not eating, but Clarke's cheeky response about stocking up on _protein_ earlier sent Lexa into a coughing fit as she tried not to gag. Then Abby was too busy asking if there was something wrong with her meal to pay attention to a smirking Clarke. Lexa managed to wheeze out an 'it's fine, I'm fine', casting a discreet glare at her step sister. The blonde winked and she locked her jaw, looking away.

 

That was low-class even for Clarke, honestly.

 

Before leaving the table, her father decides to make it even worse. “Oh,” he says suddenly, as if remembering something, “You mentioned something about protein, Clarke? Protein-based diet should be threaded carefully, but with the right knowledge it's very beneficial. I might have a recipe book somewhere. I can look for it if you want.” When Abby gives him a thankful smile, Lexa gets the reasoning behind her dad's sudden interest in Clarke's diet.

 

Lexa's merely grateful she's not eating at the moment because she's sure she would've choked on her broccoli.

 

She glances at Clarke again and the blonde is barely containing her laughter. “Oh, um,” she stutters with a wide smile. “That's really nice of you to offer, Mr. Woods, but I'm thinking of switching to something else. To, um,” she throws a look Lexa's way, full of unspoken words, “ _h_ _oney_.”

 

Her father blinks. “A diet based on... honey?”

 

It's been a while since Lexa had the urge _this_ strong to ram a fork in her eye. Clarke is biting her lips, trying to hide the grin threatening to break out.

 

“Yes,” she says. “It's good for your memory.”

 

“Huh,” Lexa's father says. “Interesting.”

 

“I'll do the dishes,” Lexa mumbles, standing up.

 

Clarke shoots to her feet. “I'll help.”

 

“Aw,” Abby coos at that, grasping her fiancé’s hand. “It's so nice you girls are getting along.”

 

Mr. Woods nods. “I guess spending quality time together has done them some good,” he chuckles.

 

Lexa hopes against all hopes Clarke keeps silent, but of course she doesn't. “Oh,” she says in a sing-song voice, “you have _no_ idea.”

 

She's relieved and horrified at the same time when the adults stand up and leave with a customary kiss to their daughter's cheek. Now that they are gone, Clarke doesn't have to cover up her suggestive remarks and Lexa hates this tense anticipation.

 

Clarke, however, seemingly chooses another strategy today because she silently gathers the dishes from the table and watches as Lexa puts away the leftovers. When she cooks, there are no leftovers. She always measures the exact amount of ingredients needed. But tonight, with Abby's generous cooking and with Clarke's refusal to eat anything even closely resembling actual food, they got more than needed and Lexa isn't about to throw it away. Maybe she can do something with them later.

 

When she's done with leftovers, they move to the sink and divide their efforts by an unspoken agreement: Lexa washes and Clarke dries. Her step sister is standing just a touch closer than needed, and their arms and shoulders brush against each other with their movements. She doesn't let herself look at Clarke, choosing instead to glare at the dishes in the sink. Clarke clearly doesn't have that problem. She feels her amused stare on her from time to time. She's nonchalant; indifferent even, and it irks Lexa more than her putting the dishes away in the wrong cabinet.

 

She blows up just as Clarke starts to speak.

 

“You know, it's weird that you guys don't-”

 

“Honey? _Really?_ ” That's not even what Lexa wanted to say, but she's been feeling incredulous this whole time. “A diet based on _honey_?”

 

“You sound like your dad,” Clarke points out, grinning. Lexa lifts her eyes to look at her, and she looks positively giddy. “What? You didn't like my clever metaphor that only the two of us are in on?”

 

“No,” Lexa says flatly. “That's the worst metaphor for vaginal fluids I've ever heard.” It's too overused, honestly. Honey, nectar, anything to do with peach. Lexa rolls her eyes every time she sees those words used to describe a vagina. It's a vagina. It's not supposed to taste and smell like a spring flower. It's tangy, heavy, and beautiful.

 

Like Clarke's. Her scent was heady and musky, and it felt incredible and-

 

Lexa snaps her eyes away from Clarke as she tries to get rid of the memories invading her brain.

 

Thankfully, the blonde doesn't seem to notice. She carries on with the conversation as if nothing is happening. As if Lexa isn’t trying, and failing, not to imagine what she tastes like.

 

"Well _excuse_ me if I'm no Sappho," Clarke scoffs.

 

Lexa shoots her a surprised look, prompting her to raise her eyebrows. “What? We live in the same house. I saw you read her work. And even if I didn't,” she puts the dish down, smirking, “it's not that much of a stretch. You like to read and you're really gay. So you must've read Sappho at some point.”

 

Lexa doesn't know if that's intended to be a compliment or an insult or a mere observation, but Clarke's smirk doesn't seem malicious, and she finds herself smiling incredulously. She catches herself just in time before she starts chuckling.

 

"Then you must've read her work as well?" she asks instead, curiously. Clarke shakes her head.

 

"I'm missing one of the prerequisites," she says. When Lexa gives her an incredulous look, she rolls her eyes. "Not _that_ one. I don't like to _read_ , Lexa."

 

She searches the blonde's face but finds she can't get past the facade. Not really knowing what to say, she nods, rinses the last plate and gives it to Clarke. They continue in silence.

 

“It's weird with them here,” Clarke states, finally. Lexa nods.

 

“You get used to having the house to yourself,” she says quietly. Clarke's gaze is on her again; when she turns, she catches the fleeting _something_ , but it's gone too soon for her to really understand what.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Did you get used to it?” Lexa asks.

 

Clarke gives her one of her lazy smirks. “Well,” she says in a tone that suggests 'duh'. “Yes. For numerous reasons.”

 

And now Lexa's one of them, isn't she?

 

“Right.” She clears her throat. “I imagine it must be hard.” Clarke gives her an inquiring look and she continues. “You know. Having sex so often and then having to just... stop.” Her voice doesn't carry a mocking undertone. It must really suck for the blonde. She doubts Abby will be okay with her daughter spending her school nights someplace other than her new home. Sure, Clarke can always have quickies somewhere else, but she must have gotten used to it. Having full freedom to do as she pleases, in her own bed.

 

Clarke, however, simply shrugs. “I can always go solo,” she reassures her with a glint in her eyes, clearly waiting for a reaction, but Lexa simply gives her a blank look. The girl sighs, dropping her smirk. “That's not the problem. It's just... I'll have to keep quiet now.” She sounds actually mournful when she says that, staring at the clean plates in front of her sadly. Her lower lip jutted out in a pout is practically about to tremble. A child, a petulant child upset with not getting her way.

 

Lexa can't help it; she lets out a short, amused laugh. She didn't even think of that. Poor Clarke. That's definitely a problem. Not for Lexa, of course. She'll be having the best sleep tonight without Clarke's moans keeping her up.

 

The blonde looks up at her, surprise evident on her face at hearing Lexa laugh, and she realizes she's never actually laughed around Clarke. Scowled, snarled, scoffed; and moaned and grunted and whispered hotly against her skin, but never laughed. She's never done a lot of things around Clarke, who's still looking at her, and it's starting to get uncomfortably warm. So she speaks, trying to break the tense silence. “Yeah. I know how much you like being loud,” she mutters, trying to sound sour. What comes out instead is a wistful hint.

 

Blue eyes widen just for a split second before narrowing in a smirk, and Lexa groans inwardly. She walked right into that one. The gates are open, all bets are off.

 

Clarke's grin grows wider.

 

"It's a pity I can't say the same," she says, and the twinkling in her blue eyes is enough to make Lexa squirm. "You didn't give me a chance to find out."

 

She's waiting, again, subtly searching Lexa's face for any sign of spluttering indignation. Lexa still has no idea what the hell she has done to piss Clarke off. She's not even sure Clarke's doing this because she's pissed at her. Whatever the reason, she refuses to give her the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand.

 

She turns so that her whole body faces Clarke and smirks inwardly when the blonde holds her breath. She watches as blue eyes roam over her face, falling to her lips.

 

"Would you like to find out?” Her voice is low and rumbling and she notes, with satisfaction, how the blonde swallows heavy and hard.

 

Clarke cocks her head to the side then, her gaze unwavering.

 

"You felt for yourself how much I would like to.” God, she did, and she can't shake it off. Can't forget the way Clarke felt on her fingers, soft and drenched. Lexa isn't a big fan of lying to herself, or so she'd like to believe at least. And it's pointless to deny she's fucked herself to silent, desperate orgasms every night since taking Clarke against the wall. Just like it's pointless to deny she's been imagining doing it again every time her fingers slid inside herself.

 

Clarke's still staring at her and she's not backing down. Abrasive as always, Lexa thinks with a hint of annoyance.

 

Annoyance that carries just a hint of exasperated fondness.

 

"Girls?" Abby calls out from the living room, making them jump from each other. Clarke swears as she almost topples over, and it's only because she grabs onto the sink that she manages to stay upright. "Is everything okay?"

 

"We're fine, mom!" Clarke shouts back, rolling her eyes. Lexa winces. They are a rather loud family.

 

Clarke's studying her. For the first time since Lexa began catching her glances, this curiosity has nothing to do with dark, heavy desire clouding her eyes. "You don't like it when people yell, do you?"

 

Lexa takes the plate from Clarke's hand, putting it into the right cabinet and schooling her features into a neutral expression. "Don't psychoanalyze me," she states. "You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed."

 

They finish up in tense silence. Tense, but not uncomfortable.

 

//

 

The parents’ sudden arrival and lengthy dinner throws Lexa off schedule, and she scowls as she looks at her watch after finishing her homework. Almost midnight. Great. She thinks she’ll skip her morning jog this time.

 

She’s done brushing her teeth before bed when her phone goes off. A message. Lexa sincerely hopes it isn’t Indra telling her she’s got additional practice tomorrow after school. Her coach has been urging her to train more often because of the winter fencing tournament. As much as Lexa loves practice, she needs her rest too. Her fencing achievements won’t be useful if she doesn’t have prefect grades to back up her applications.

 

But, as she swipes the screen, she kind of wishes it were Indra.

 

 **Clarke** : are you asleep?

 

Lexa has no idea why Clarke is texting her this late. She has no idea why Clarke is texting her, period. Not one to beat around the bush, she simply asks.

 

 **Lexa Woods** : About to. Did you need something?

 

She briefly wonders why she didn’t simply ignore her step sister when her screen lights up again.

 

 **Clarke** : you left your book downstairs

 **Clarke** : you want me

 **Clarke** : to bring it to you?

 

She rolls her eyes. That double message was really unnecessarily, and both Clarke and Lexa know it.

 

So how does she play this? She’s not sure what Clarke is trying to achieve here. An entrance to her room, clearly; but what is she hoping to find there? A willing body?

 

Lexa responds purely because she’s curious what will happen.

 

 **Lexa Woods:** I do.

 **Lexa Woods:** Thank you.

 

Two can play at that game, even if one of the participants isn’t sure what the game is. So she plops down on her bed on top of the covers, and waits.

 

Her door makes a tiny creak as Clarke opens it, sliding inside her room. Lexa looks up from her phone, taking her in and resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she notes the pajama shorts Clarke is wearing. Same ones she had on when Lexa let her emotions get the best of her. Silky and short to the point of indecency - if pajama shorts even can be considered indecent. They are meant to be worn in bed after all, not to a ball. Lexa is in no position to judge. She herself has boxers on.

 

Clarke lazily trails her gaze up Lexa’s outstretched body. Their eyes meet and Clarke’s face is void of her usual smirk. Instead, there is concentrated determination in the way she looks between Lexa’s eyes and her lips.

 

"Here," she says softly, placing the book on Lexa’s nightstand. She glances at it. To Kill a Mockingbird. So Clarke didn’t make up an excuse. It’s actually her book. Yet somehow Lexa doubts it’s all Clarke wanted.

 

She sits on the bed in a simple fluid movement, placing her feet on the floor, and stares up at the blonde. It’s impossible to ignore the way blue eyes darken, and Lexa suppresses the urge to shiver at the memory of what happened the last time she’s seen that particular shade of blue. "Thank you," she says, her voice even. Clarke nods. _She has a lovely throat,_ Lexa thinks as she watches the blonde swallow. Does it still have her mark from last time? She can’t tell from this angle: Clarke’s hair is hiding that part of her neck.

 

They are still for a long moment, both looking at each other. Waiting. Lexa’s beginning to figure out what’s going on, and she’ll be damned if she makes it easy for the blonde this time. So she sits, unmoving, expressionless. Watching Clarke come has been incredible, but watching her squirm in discomfort at having the control slip away - that just might be Lexa’s new favorite thing. One of them, anyway.

 

She knows it’s temporary so she milks it for what it’s worth, and Clarke does not disappoint. As soon as Lexa allows a tiny smirk to crack her facade, the blonde gives a barely audible scoff and starts walking towards her, still seated on her bed. There is mild irritation in her gaze; that’s how Lexa knows she’s won. Clarke stops when she’s right in front of her, her expression unreadable as she gazes down at Lexa. The air is heavy and Clarke’s stare is intense, too intense. Lexa’s not sure she wants it to be this electric.

 

She leans back on her hands, studying Clarke. That’s the only go ahead the blonde will get and she takes it. With gracefulness Lexa didn’t know she had in her, Clarke slowly straddles her and steadies herself by placing hands on her shoulders. They’re face to face, noses almost touching when Clarke’s center comes in contact with Lexa’s clothed stomach, and it’s her moan that has Lexa finally giving in.

 

Clarke’s hot against her lower stomach as Lexa puts her arm around her waist, smashing their lips together and swallowing the tiny sounds Clarke’s making. Her other hand finds purchase on Clarke’s hip, rolling and warm. She slides it up to her waist, under her sleep shirt, smirking against Clarke’s mouth as the blonde gasps at the way she’s scratching at her back. Their kiss deepens, and Lexa can’t tell who’s making sounds anymore. Her head is spinning with the feel of Clarke’s mouth, hot and wet, a persistent tongue sliding against her own. Mint and Clarke. The taste is exquisite.

 

Lexa has to begrudgingly admit Clarke’s the best kisser she ever had the pleasure of kissing.

 

It’s like someone turned the switch and their hands are everywhere. Lexa feels Clarke grip the back on her neck, feels her tangle her fingers in her hair, feels her grasp on her shoulders and back. She’s not too far behind. Her hands find the perfect curve of Clarke’s behind, and she squeezes, satisfied with the low moan rumbling in Clarke’s throat. She kneads her ass, her fingers straying closer and closer to her cunt, still clothed in pajama shorts and, judging by the heat, nothing else. Clarke damn near mewls and almost makes Lexa lose it. Almost.

 

The sound Clarke lets out is too sharp and makes Lexa come back to her senses, at least partially, to realize that the door isn’t properly closed.

 

The blonde lets out a protesting noise as she tears her mouth away. Her hands stay on Clarke's body, still moving.

 

"The door," she whispers, watching as Clarke shudders and rolls her hips harder every time her fingers get close to her core. "I should close it."

 

Clarke pants out her next words, "It doesn’t bother me."

 

Lexa’s so inexplicably glad she finally has the chance to kiss that annoying smirk off her face, and so she does. They almost become lost in the sensation once again when Lexa stops them. "I should close it," she repeats, voice hushed.

 

The blonde shrugs, still rolling her hips, her fingers playing with small hairs at the nape of Lexa’s neck. "So close it," she breathes out between sighs. Lexa has half a mind to simply push her to the floor but she gets another idea.

 

Clarke lets out a surprised yelp when she stands, putting her arms under her knees and hoisting her up, and Lexa quickly presses her lips to the blonde’s to silence her. She walks to the door with Clarke hanging onto her for dear life and presses her to it after quietly closing it.

 

The blonde gives her a husky, breathless laugh. "You have a thing for fucking against walls, don’t you?"

 

"I thought I told you not to analyze me," Lexa grunts, leaning down to assault her neck. Her mark is still there, faded and less angry than it was several days ago. She eagerly laps at it.

 

Clarke quickly proves that right near the door isn’t the best place for them to do anything because she lets out a sharp cry and Lexa stops, lifting her head to give her an incredulous look.

 

"You have to be quiet," she points out. Clarke nods hurriedly before grabbing her head and drawing her to her neck again. She learns Clarke is not to be trusted when she begins moaning her name.

 

"Clarke," she hisses, walking back to the bed and placing the blonde on it. Clarke tugs her and she ends up falling on her between her spread legs. "Be quiet."

 

For the first time in - forever, Lexa’s willing to bet - Clarke looks apologetic. "I’m trying," she whispers.

 

"Try harder," Lexa says, "or I'll have to gag you." She immediately regrets her words when blue eyes flash with delight. Of course she'd be into it.

 

Before Clarke has a chance to make a clever quip, Lexa grabs the hem of the t-shirt she's wearing and tugs it off, leaving herself clad in boxers and nothing else. That shuts Clarke up immediately. Lexa is reminded of that day on a stairwell when Clarke hungrily roams her eyes all over her, paying close attention to her abs. She smirks when the blonde gulps.

 

Deciding that she gave Clarke enough time to enjoy the view, she leans down, capturing pink lips with her own. Clarke's hands promptly fly up to her abs, stroking and scratching at them. She shivers when Clarke lets out a satisfied purr. It's already uncomfortably damp between her legs, and she marvels at the effect Clarke has on her. Damn this girl, she thinks. She can't ever let Clarke realize what hold she has on her.

 

That thought goes out the window when Clarke bites her lip hard enough to hurt and expertly rolls them over, grinning down on Lexa. She knows from Clarke's gaze that the blonde _knows;_ knows she doesn't let other girls do this. Knows she'll get away with it.

 

But Lexa's already close to imploding if someone doesn't do something soon, and the power play is the furthest thing from her mind. She merely growls and fists Clarke's hair, tugging her down and reveling in a harsh kiss. Clarke's hands begin to wander and she bucks under her, feeling overwhelmed. It's been some time since anyone has touched her like that. Smoothing their hands down her sides and stomach, impatiently parting her legs and settling between them. She gasps as Clarke grinds into her carefully, testing her sensitivity.

 

"Fuck, Clarke," falls from her lips before she can stop herself. She remembers from last time that Clarke doesn't like it when people talk during sex. But right now the blonde doesn't seem to mind.

 

"On it," she mumbles into her throat before nibbling at her jaw. Lexa feels the blonde smile against her skin when she lets out a heavy sigh. Then her teeth close on her neck and she barely catches a pitiful whimper.

 

"Fuck," she can't help herself. Clarke really fucking knows what she's doing. Her lips and teeth travel across Lexa's throat, nipping and soothing while she scratches her nails down Lexa's front, stopping at the waistband of her boxers. She hovers there, drawing patters on her skin. Stalling.

 

Lexa's not sure if this is Clarke being considerate or Clarke being an asshole, and she doesn't care.

 

"Clarke," she nearly growls. "Fuck me."

 

She gives herself a mental pat on the back for the shudder that goes through the blonde's body at her snared command, but then Clarke thrusts her hand down her boxers and cups her.

 

The moan that leaves Clarke's lips at finding her wet and read is probably too loud, but Lexa finds she doesn't care anymore. She shuts her eyes and lets her head fall back on the pillow.

 

"Oh God," she rushes out when Clarke begins to palm her. "Fuck. Don't stop."

 

The blonde chuckles. "Talker," she concludes and Lexa can hear her infuriating smirk. But then her fingers find her clit and she doesn't care about anything else.

 

She spreads her legs wider, allowing Clarke easier access, but her boxers get in the way. Clarke tugs them down her legs, impatient, hasty; in any other situation Lexa would scoff. But this isn't any other situation.

 

She's about to let Clarke fuck her and she's very much looking forward to it.

 

Clarke's warm, solid body feels comfortably heavy on top of her. Her fingers are back, exploring her and she searches for the blonde's mouth desperately, trying to stop herself from babbling. Their lips meet. It isn't rushed, isn't bruising, but it is passionate. Clarke licks into her mouth in time with the movements of her hand and Lexa finds herself on the verge of passing out.

 

She's eager to tumble over the edge and Clarke doesn't deny her this need.

 

"Inside," Lexa gasps, breaking the kiss when Clarke starts to rub little circles into her clit harder and harder. "I need you inside. Two." Something crosses the girl's face but Lexa is too far gone to analyze the complicated mess that is her step sister. Clarke's fingers are shorter than hers but they are thicker. A lot thicker, Lexa realizes when the blonde nods and slowly pushes them in. It's a little too much but the burn is delicious. Lexa welcomes it.

 

Clarke begins to move her hand and Lexa barely stops herself from crying out. It feels full. She feels so filled and it's incredible. Clarke is kissing down her neck, sighing and gasping into it and adding to the incredible sensations. She can't stay quiet even when it isn't her being taken, it seems. Every sound, every movement of Lexa's is met with responding one from Clarke. She sounds like she's genuinely enjoying Lexa's body, loving the feel of her cunt around her fingers. To this moment, Lexa didn't know how amazing it would feel to have a partner so invested in her pleasure that they get off on it.

 

Clarke Griffin is a revelation of sorts, and she hates that she likes it.

 

The blonde starts gently palming her breast with her free hand. She rolls the erect nipple between her fingers and this time Lexa does let out a small moan. She's trying to keep quiet, and she's much better at it than Clarke, but they still can't risk the parents hearing them. So she bites down on her lip, keeping her moans in.

 

Clarke clearly doesn't have that problem.

 

At Lexa's last moan, she whimpers into her neck, licking up to her ear and making the girl under her shiver. Seemingly satisfied with the reaction, she licks down to her chest. There's a brief moment where Clarke stills, not more than a second. Lexa opens her eyes to find the blonde staring at her, a challenge clear in her gaze. Clarke raises her eyebrows at her, wearing a small smirk. As if asking her if she's ready.

 

Lexa doesn't get the chance to snarl because Clarke lowers her mouth to her chest and sucks on her nipple forcefully while curling fingers inside her in just the right way.

 

She almost knocks Clarke off her as she arches her back, clutching the sheets and biting at her lip not to scream. Her body is trembling with tension as she tries not to trash, about to come. But Clarke, it seems, wants her to scream; wants her to writhe and buck.

 

"Look at me," she hears the blonde demand softly. Her hand is still moving, fingers stroking Lexa's spot and thumb clumsily flicking at her clit. "Lexa."

 

She prefers to think it's the right pressure on her clit that does it and not Clarke saying her name in that scratchy low voice of hers. Either way, it happens.

 

Her eyes fly open and she lifts her head and looks Clarke square in the eye as she comes, panting and screaming in whisper.

 

"Fuck!" She feels herself contract and clench around Clarke's fingers and the sensation alone brings another wave. It tingles all over. "Oh, Clarke, oh fuck!"

 

Clarke is marveling at what she is seeing. Lexa doesn't know whether it's at watching her come or at the fact that she manages to yell so quietly, and she doesn't care. All she cares about right now is Clarke's fingers inside her making her head spin.

 

Next thing she knows, she's staring at the ceiling, breathing rapidly. Her heartbeat is only just slowing down and she can't quite feel her toes.

 

She really hopes she just blinked in and out of it and didn't actually pass out from her orgasm. That would give Clarke insane bragging rights. Not that she doesn't have anything to brag about as it is.

 

"Shit," she grunts, trying to get her breathing under control. So that's what she missed out on last time. She's not gonna deny she's glad she let it happen tonight.

 

Clarke isn't lying on top of her anymore. She's next to her now, propping her head up on her hand and watching her curiously. Her other hand, wet and sticky with Lexa’s essence, lazily draws invisible circles on her stomach. Her abs jump at the sensation and Clarke’s eyes widen with delight.

 

"You okay?" Lexa doesn't hear any taunting in her voice, and she's thankful. She feels good and she doesn't want it to go away just yet.

 

She blinks and gives Clarke a lazy smile. "What do you think?"

 

The blonde smirks. "I think I'm envious."

 

"Not for long."

 

Clarke gasps sweetly as Lexa pins her to the mattress, nuzzling at her neck. She smells just like last time too. Lexa can't wait until she's tasting all of her so she decides not to take long. Clarke must be really wound up from watching her come. She won't mind if Lexa heads straight for the source.

 

She leaves quick, determined kisses as she descends down the blonde's body. And what a body it is, Lexa's head is spinning again from the sheer beauty of Clarke. She knows her own body is appealing, sculpted in training and various sports and constant workout routine. She's seen the effect her own body has on girls. But Clarke... She's soft and enticing, presenting her body in an unashamedly sexy manner that has Lexa gasping for breath. Round, perfect breasts heaving with her labored breathing. Soft belly made to be kissed, and that's exactly what Lexa does, coaxing sighs from the blonde. Shapely thighs that Lexa parts gently, scratching her nails up and down and making Clarke whimper. She casts a quick glance at her, shushing her with her eyes. Clarke nods but her gaze is so hazy Lexa doubts she understands.

 

Her shorts repeat the fate of Lexa’s boxers, thrown carelessly aside. Clarke helps Lexa tug the t-shirt off her and it joins the heap of clothes somewhere neither Clarke or Lexa particularly care.

 

Finally, Lexa lies down on her stomach and Clarke is completely open for her. She spreads her legs in invitation, bending them at knees, sloppily caressing Lexa’s hair and pawing at it. So, so impatient. But she can relate.

 

Tonight isn’t about slow worshipping and they both know it. Lexa can’t help but savor the moment though, at least a little. She trails fast kisses up Clarke’s parted thighs, nibbling and licking as she goes and coaxing gentle sighs from the blonde. The sounds, quiet and sweet, make shivers run down her spine. She reaches Clarke’s center finally and breathes her in. Nuzzles her nose against soft dark blonde curls. If she had to describe the way Clarke smelled in one word… Mouthwatering.

 

Perfect.

 

She leans in and gives a long, deliberate lick, and both she and Clarke moan.

 

"Clarke," Lexa tears her mouth away, glaring at her. "Come on."

 

The blonde meets her eyes with her own wide, unfocused ones. "Sorry," she breathes, not sounding sorry at all.

 

"Use the pillow, bite on your fist, or something," Lexa whispers and she nods, placing one hand on her mouth. Good enough, Lexa thinks and dives right back in. She’s eager to have more of her because the first taste was, simply put, addictive. Salty and musky and perfect.

 

She wants to spend hours just licking into Clarke, drinking her, but the girl is already dripping down her chin so she decides not to tease her. Maybe next time. So she licks up to her clit and gently sucks the hardened nub into her mouth.

 

Clarke howls.

 

Lexa scrambles up, roughly pressing her hand to the blonde’s mouth and freezing, listening for footsteps in the hallway. There’s dread pooling in the pit of her stomach as they stare at each other, their labored breathing the only sound in the room. Lexa’s trying not to breathe at all. Several long seconds pass but nothing happens. No rushing footsteps, no hurried knocking at her door. Her father’s bedroom is too far down the hall. One sudden scream won’t wake them up. But constant cries will, and Clarke can’t be trusted with silence without Lexa there to watch her.

 

She won’t be making Clarke come with her mouth tonight. It’s a pity, really. She was kinda looking forward to it if she’s being honest with herself. But it’s too risky.

 

Clarke shifts under her and Lexa only now becomes aware of the wet heat against her stomach. Her ragged breathing is hot against her palm and her eyes look black in the darkness of the room. She’s arching into her, seeking more contact and moaning into her hand. Her rolling hips are incredibly distracting.

 

Lexa carefully thrusts into her and has to press on Clarke's mouth harder when she practically cries out. The blonde is trying to keep her noises to a minimum. It's not working very well but Lexa's hand muffles most of them. She can work with that, at least.

 

She finds Clarke so ready for her yet again when her fingers venture down, probing at her. Blue eyes, wide and dark, stare up at her and Lexa is ashamed to admit she's pleased to see silent begging in them.

 

Clarke shuts her eyes and cries out, arching when Lexa enters her. She goes with three fingers right away, wanting to test Clarke to see if she can take it, and oh, she can. She sucks her in just like last time. She's just as open, just as silky and hot inside as the last time, and Lexa is getting worked up again at the feel of Clarke around her. But last time she didn't have to hold her hand to Clarke's mouth. She didn't have Clarke look at her this way, pleading and almost innocent-like. She didn't have Clarke under her, pinned to the bed as she thrusts inside, going deeper each time she sees Clarke's eyes widen and feels her scream into her hand.

 

This by far is the most incredible experience she's had, and yes, it trumps the first time with Clarke too. The dirty secrecy of it all, the muffled sounds, the way Clarke clenches around her every time she goes a little too rough, presses on her mouth a little too hard – it has Lexa flying high.

 

The molten heat between her own legs becomes unbearable and she straddles Clarke's toned thigh, sighing at the contact. The girl is right there with her, whimpering at the wetness against her skin.

 

It's almost too much and Lexa's afraid she won't be able to handle it. Clarke's writhing under her like a snake, hands clawing at her forearms and shoulders. She makes getting her brains fucked out look unfairly beautiful with her golden hair scattered on a pillow and skin glowing under moonlight. She moves with no precision at all. Uncontrollable, yet so smooth. She's losing it as much as Lexa is. And Lexa doesn't want to admit that she's losing it _because_ of her, but knows that denying it wouldn't make it any less true.

 

“Clarke,” she whispers and the blonde shudders, pulsing around her. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good.” Her thrusts grow faster and the sounds Clarke's cunt is making grow louder, just like the girl under her. Lexa thanks whoever up there that her door is so heavy and her father's room is so far away. “Such a good girl...”

 

Clarke jerks.

 

Lexa's eyes grow wide as a theory quickly forms in her head.

 

“Clarke.” She says again, curling her fingers and starting to stroke upwards, giving up on idle thrusting. The blonde rewards her with a string of muffled moans and nails down her back, making her wince. But she wants to test something. “Good girl. That's it. You're doing so good, baby.” The 'baby' part makes her cringe inwardly, but Clarke seems to like it. And she seems to be right about Clarke, if the girl's desperate bucking and wide eyes are any indication.

 

Her thigh is pressing up against Lexa and she's consumed by the feeling, torn between wanting to come and wishing it to never end. In the end, Clarke decides for her.

 

“That's it,” she whispers hotly in Clarke's ear, biting her earlobe and panting as she rides her leg, simultaneously curling her fingers against the girl's spot. “Let go.”

 

Clarke's breathing is hot and harsh on her palm.

 

“Come for me.”

 

Clarke freezes for one long, glorious second, before Lexa feels her mouth form an 'o' under her hand, and then she's screaming. Except she's not, because Lexa leans down and kisses her, letting her cries of pleasure hit the roof of her mouth, and then Lexa's right there with her, falling and groaning, the pain from Clarke's nails barely registering in her brain.

 

She doesn't realize she's still frantically thrusting inside Clarke until the girl lets out a displeased noise and weakly grabs at her hand, stilling it. She lifts her head from the crook of Clarke's neck, but not before nipping at the sweaty skin, tasting salt. Clarke shivers.

 

“Again?” she asks Lexa breathlessly. She's smiling; a lazy, content smile that lacks any of her usual bite, and Lexa isn't so sure her answer to her question will be a negative one. But it has to be.

 

“No,” she replies, just as out of breath. It's easier for her to get her breathing under control, since she exercises twice as much as Clarke. Although if sex counts as exercise, Clarke's way ahead of her. “No,” she repeats. “It's late.”

 

Clarke chuckles at that, amused. Her hands are still on Lexa's back, not scratching anymore, but soothing, tracing the marks that sting. “Somehow I'm not surprised you would say no to more sex because you have to be up early.” She watches as Lexa rolls onto her back, hissing as the scratches come in contact with sheets. “That ship has sailed, by the way. It's...” She blindly searches for Lexa's phone on the nightstand. The light from the screen has them both squinting. “It's almost two,” she announces.

 

“What?” Lexa snatches her phone from Clarke's hand, ignoring her chuckles. “Holy... Fuck,” she grumbles. Great. Have they really been going at it for almost two hours? It all seems like a blur, now. A hot, insane blur.

 

Clarke is lounging beside her, watching her with curious eyes. She's not touching her, settling for unashamedly ogling Lexa's naked body. She's seen Clarke like that countless of times. Hair mussed and eyes twinkling and skin glistening. But never when she was the reason for her being so... content.

 

Clarke's perfectly content laying in her bed and looking at her with entitlement only a lover has. Lexa's fingers itch to draw circles on her pale skin. But it's late. Too late for this endorphin-induced high that will wear off by morning.

 

“You should go,” Lexa finds herself saying, “before they wake up.”

 

Clarke's face doesn't change. She's still staring at Lexa with a lazy smile. “I doubt they will wake up before eight.”

 

“If they catch you sneaking out of my room, they will ask questions,” Lexa says, immediately defensive and trying not to show it. “My farther is perfectly aware of my sexuality and not an idiot.”

 

“Neither is my mom,” Clarke retorts. “But do you really think they would care?”

 

“You sound like you want to stay.”

 

That makes Clarke chuckle and finally rise from the bed. “Don't worry,” she smirks, “I don't.”

 

Lexa watches as the blonde grabs the first clothes she locates. They just happen to be Lexa's sweatpants and a t-shirt, folded neatly on her chair. She lets it slide. She doesn't want to make this more awkward by having Clarke roam her room in search of her discarded shorts. She'll get them back to her tomorrow. Well, today already. Fuck.

Clarke tugs Lexa's clothes on and with one final look she's gone.

 

Lexa tells herself they'll get bored of each other soon.

 

//

 

It gets better every time they have sex and Lexa doesn't get it.

 

Clarke seems to know exactly what it is that Lexa's craving at any moment. And if she doesn't, she's eager to find out and follow Lexa's instructions.

 

They can't wait for Abby and Lexa's father to finally leave for their trip. Being quiet is an actual problem for Clarke. Abby already commented on strange noises coming from Lexa's room.

 

"Do you sleep okay, dear?" she asks her one time at breakfast, concern clear on her face. Lexa gives her a blank look, trying to quell the unease in her stomach.

 

Clarke shoots her a glance and she's not smirking. Her eyes are alert and she notes a hint of fear flashing through them.

 

"The reason I'm asking," Abby clearly isn't patient enough to wait for her to speak. "I passed by your room last night when I went to get water. It sounded like you were having a nightmare. You were groaning and moving in your sleep?"

 

Lexa feels her face grow hot and Clarke's face is finally lit up by a tiny grin. "I, yes," she stutters, "I do have nightmares, sometimes. It's okay. It's the stress."

 

Thankfully, Abby isn't invested in her wellbeing past simple curiously so she drops it, only promising to bring some herbal medication for Lexa to sleep better. She doesn't.

 

When the parents finally depart after exchanging goodbyes and seeing them to the cab, Clarke practically drags Lexa to her father's study and lets her bend her over his desk. She's reveling in her own long moans and Lexa can't help but smile at her cries of pleasure. Clarke clearly missed being loud.

 

If Lexa's being honest, she's missed Clarke being loud too.

 

She still quirks her brow at the blonde after they are done, watching as she tugs her thong up those toned legs.

 

"Did that make you feel better?" They both know she's not talking about sex. She's talking about the place they fucked in. She imagines Clarke longed for sweetness of rebellious revenge and wonders if she got it.

 

Clarke shrugs. "No." She gives Lexa a lingering kiss then. "But it wasn't supposed to."

 

She's hard to figure out at times.

 

They spend a blissfully loud week together. Lexa still grumbles at Clarke's music and the way she insists on trampling up the stairs like a pack of young, easily excited elephants. But now she doesn't mind Clarke's screams since she's the one to cause them. Clarke rewards her, of course.

 

Her back is tender and raw from Clarke’s display of appreciation but it's worth it. Or so she thinks, until Saturday when she hisses as she puts her fencing clothes on and Indra sternly tells her to limit her bedroom activities until after the winter tournament. "I'm happy you managed to find a girl who is willing to put up with you," she tells a gaping Lexa after her Saturday practice and her tone suggests she actually couldn't care less if Lexa died wifeless and childless, surrounded only by seven cats, "but you need to focus. I've been young and in love once too. And let me tell you something," she gestures for Lexa to step closer. "It's not more important than the winter tournament. Nothing is. Stop thinking about your girl and sleep in your own bed for the next month."

 

Lexa is so astonished she forgets about professional boundaries. "How did you-"

 

"Your tank top does a very bad job at hiding the scratches," Indra tells her and the way her jaw twitches lets Lexa know she's just as uncomfortable as her. But there is something exhilarating in knowing someone saw the marks Clarke left on her. Saw the result of them having sex.

 

The whole 'in love' part is conveniently ignored. She's not about to explain to her coach that she and Clarke are simply step sisters with benefits and she can't be in love with a person who thinks the nutritional value of hot pockets is higher than that of any vegetable.

 

She comes home and grabs a surprised Clarke from the couch, hoisting her up and having her on the counter. Clarke leaves crescents in her shoulders and she traces them in her room in front of the mirror, feeling strangely content and mildly aroused at having the visual proof of fucking her.

 

She gets so used to Clarke constantly being there when she needs her that it actually takes an effort to stop. But midterms are just around the corner and Clarke is a distraction - a beautiful, incredible distraction that Lexa is hungry for. But a distraction nonetheless.

 

"I won't be available the next two weeks," she lets Clarke know over dinner. The blonde tilts her head to the side, confused. Lexa tries to ignore the impeccable curve of her neck.

 

"Are you going somewhere?"

 

"No. It's midterms."

 

A look of understanding crosses Clarke's face. "Right," she nods. "Valedictorian stuff."

 

"Actually, regular student stuff," Lexa feels the need to correct her but Clarke simply arches her eyebrow and Lexa gives up. "Anyway. I just thought you should know. Our, uh, arrangement... I won't be able to, um..."

 

Clarke interrupts her, fed up with her mumbling. "I got it," she says. "I'll find someone else to fuck while you're studying for the brighter future."

 

"I thought you already had someone else," Lexa says. "Several someones."

 

Clarke blinks. "Why?" she asks. "You're always there."

 

That's how Lexa learns Clarke hadn't been sleeping with anyone but her ever since that night, and the knowledge makes her feel weird. The knowledge that now Clarke will be screwing someone else again makes her stomach flip. She tells herself she's concerned about her health. Who knows what type of people Clarke sleeps with. Her heart skips a beat at the thought. She ignores it.

 

//

 

She's peacefully taking a break from studying in the living room, headphones on and a book in her hand, when she sees a boy Clarke brought home tumbling down the stairs. Huh, she thinks. That was fast. The boy doesn't spare her a glance as he storms out, slamming the door as he does. Lexa scowls. Whatever Clarke did to him, the door isn't at fault.

 

Or whatever he did to Clarke, she thinks and stands up without realizing it. She's about to climb the stairs when Clarke comes out of her room. She too doesn't even look at Lexa as she brushes past her, wearing only a robe and a scowl. The blonde heads straight to the kitchen and Lexa has no choice but to follow.

 

"Trouble in paradise?" she asks, leaning against the doorpost and watching Clarke rummage through the cabinets. The blonde finally gives her a quick glance, seemingly only now realizing she's standing there.

 

"What?" She sounds irritated. "I don't even know his name."

 

"So you're finally seeing the error of your ways and coping like a stable adult would?” she teases, watching as Clarke finally finds what she was looking for. A whiskey bottle stashed in an empty Captain Crunch box. Smart. Neither Lexa nor her father would ever touch that box with a ten-foot pole.

 

Clarke rolls her eyes as she unscrews the cap. "We’re seventeen," she reminds Lexa. "We are supposed to make fucked up choices and not deal with them the right way. You keep forgetting that."

 

Lexa grabs the bottle Clarke’s about to tip in her mouth. This is alarming. She’s seen Clarke come home wasted and she’s seen her high as a kite, but she’s never seen her about to chug whiskey straight from the bottle. In the house, alone, without her friends and loud frat party bass reverberating through her chest. It looks like Clarke’s progressing from social drinking to quiet alcoholism and that just won’t do.

 

Clarke makes a disgruntled noise of protest but Lexa still wrestles the bottle out of her head and carefully screws the cap back on. "I’m not forgetting that," she says. "And I’m eighteen."

 

The blonde scoffs. "Since when?"

 

"Since last week."

 

Clarke looks taken aback by her admission. "Oh." She watches as Clarke frowns slightly, blinking. "Why didn’t you… I mean, I didn’t know it was your birthday last week."

 

Lexa feels like she has to explain. "It’s not that big of a deal," she says. "I don’t care about my birthday. I don’t have time to celebrate." It doesn’t convince Clarke whose frown deepens. So she continues. "I bought myself a gift and everything. Celebration is… taxing." It is. She’s not lying when she says it isn’t a big deal. She doesn’t get what it is about birthdays that has people so excited. It’s just a day. A day when she has a permission to buy whatever she wants for herself, within the reasonable limit, of course - if 1500 dollars can be considered reasonable to blow in one day. She sends the money to The Trevor Project every year and treats herself to a 20-dollar ice cream and her father pretends he’s proud of her.

 

Clarke gives her a long look and Lexa smiles inwardly when it inevitably falls to her lips. She holds her breath as the blonde slowly leans closer to her. Clarke smells like sex and something uniquely her. Something Lexa misses, she realizes.

 

Her eyes are about to flutter closed when the bottle is snatched from her hand. She scowls as Clarke smirks at her, holding it proudly.

 

"Well," she says. "If you find it ‘taxing’ to celebrate, I’ll do it for you." She tips the bottle mockingly. "Cheers."

 

Lexa merely watches her. Notes the flush of her cheeks, the frustrated quirk of her eyebrows, the labored breathing, and something clicks and falls in place.

 

Clarke looks ready to kill when Lexa takes the bottle for the second time, but whatever it is she was about to say gets muffled by Lexa’s lips on hers. She holds the blonde in place, gripping her waist, and it’s only a second before Clarke kisses back, letting out a throaty groan when Lexa parts her legs with her thigh, grinding up into her.

 

When they break the kiss, Clarke’s even more flushed and disoriented, clutching the front of Lexa’s shirt in her fists.

 

"What…" She shakes her head, letting blonde hair fall on her face. Lexa brushes them away for her. "What was that?"

 

Lexa’s lips stretch in a half-smirk. "He didn't make you come, did he?" She doesn’t need the blonde to answer the question. Clarke’s noises, more frustrated than horny, the boy storming out, the sudden need for alcohol - really, Lexa should’ve realized this sooner. She leans in again, meeting Clarke’s tongue with her own and swallowing her desperate moans. It’s an urgent kiss, almost rushed, but that doesn’t make it any less hot.

 

Every time they hurry, the orgasms are shorter but brighter. Lexa thinks that's exactly what Clarke needs.

 

“Come on,” she mumbles against her lips. “Hop on.”

 

Clarke doesn't need to be asked twice as she gets on the counter with Lexa's help. Her robe falls open, revealing skin covered in marks that aren't Lexa. She gets a sudden urge to ghost over them, to reclaim each and every one of them as her own.

 

But Clarke is twisting and panting and there is no time for that, so Lexa falls to her knees and gives Clarke's cunt a wet, dirty kiss, making her cry out. She's not as wet as she usually is, probably because of the earlier irritation. But she's getting there. Lexa carefully trails her tongue through her folds, and smiles into her when she feels a gush of wetness oh her chin.

 

It's not long before Clarke begins to squirm.

 

“Lexa,” she hears the blonde breathe out. Her hand clutches Lexa's shoulder, wrinkling her shirt. Neither care about that right now. “Oh, Lexa...”

 

Spurred by Clarke's voice, Lexa dives right in, thrusting her tongue as deep as she can. But she's never been particularly good at fucking a girl with her tongue, and when Clarke tugs at her hair impatiently and starts rolling her hips in her face, Lexa complies, licking up to her clit and sucking on it hard. Clarke whimpers and she replaces her tongue with two fingers.

 

“Oh, God, Lexa!”

 

Clarke is almost smothering her as she practically rides her face in time with flicks of Lexa's tongue. She works for her pleasure as much as Lexa does. Lexa doesn't mind. The way Clarke's thrusting against her mouth, using it and not caring whether she can breathe, is entrancing.

 

She rubs Clarke's spot forcefully and grins when she feels the blonde freeze, already knowing what that means. She grips Clarke's hips beforehand, holding her in place as she begins to buck, riding out her orgasm. Her clit pulsates under Lexa's mouth like crazy and she hurriedly thrusts her tongue inside Clarke again, moaning at the contractions she feels there. Clarke drips down her throat and she swallows all of her, eager to get the last drop.

 

Clarke's clenching slows down and Lexa lazily laps at her center. She's perfectly content spending her evening like this, on her knees before Clarke, cleaning her up, but the blonde soon pushes at her head, scooting away from her persistent tongue. She doesn't like to be overstimulated, Lexa's learned this the second time they were together. Not the hard way, thankfully.

 

She rises to her feet, slowly trailing wet kisses up Clarke's stomach, chest, neck, and finally reaches her lips, sharing her taste with her. She's learned Clarke quite likes the way she tastes. That makes two of them, really.

 

The blonde hums at her taste of herself that she finds on Lexa's lips. Then she chuckles, suddenly. "This is illegal," she points out when Lexa distances herself to look at her. "I’m a minor, remember?" She brushes her mouth against Lexa’s in a chaste kiss. "And you're not. How does it feel? Breaking the law?"

 

Lexa has to admit it feels pretty damn good. "Clarke," she says, smirking. "In a couple of months, this will be illegal for a whole other reason." The blonde grins at that and she grins back, pressing her lips to the side of Clarke’s head and inhaling her scent.

 

Both of them freeze.

 

This is out of the realm of fuck buddies. Lexa knows that. Somehow, the knowledge didn't stop her from doing this.

 

She clears her throat and steps away from the blonde, helping her get down from the counter. Clarke's legs are still wobbly and she staggers into Lexa who catches her, helping her stand upright. It all feels awfully familiar.

 

When Clarke grabs her and plants a harsh kiss on her lips, the feeling of deja vu increases tenfold.

 

“Clarke, stop,” she breathes, taking a step back and taking the blonde's hands away from her face. Clarke's fingers automatically curl around her own and she swallows, squeezing them. There's something in her eyes, something that makes Lexa's stomach churn and coil.

 

She doesn't want to dwell on it.

 

“You don't have to,” she tells the blonde, letting her hands fall to her side.

 

Clarke looks confused. “But I want to.”

 

“Yeah, well, I can't.” She glances at her wristwatch. There's still some reading to be done and then she has to go to bed. “It wasn't about me, anyway,” she finishes, looking back at the blonde and giving her a reassuring smile. Clarke is still frowning. Lexa doesn't really know what to say so she busies herself with tying her robe. She gives her a neat bow. When she lifts her eyes to meet Clarke's, she's surprised to find her blushing. She wasn't this flushed when Lexa was between her legs.

 

Clarke's hand comes up to cover hers, still playing with the bow, and squeezes. Right. She lets go and nods, ready to depart and not ready to decipher whatever it is that's swimming deep in Clarke's blue eyes.

 

“Lexa,” the blonde calls out when she's almost out of the kitchen, causing her to turn. “Thank you.”

 

She's not sure whether she's talking about the sex or the robe or the not letting her drink, but she nods again and leaves.

 

//

 

Midterms come and go and finals creep up on them. Lexa’s fallen a little behind in two of her classes and she needs to ace her exams if she wants perfect grades. That means less fencing practice and no Clarke. Which means Clarke bringing other people home.

 

Her step sister has grown much more considerate and Lexa’s grateful for that. She’s still loud, yes, but with her door closed and with Lexa holed up in her father’s study, it’s much less bothersome. It _is_ bothersome for other reasons, but Lexa’s never been one for people ownership so she brushes those reasons aside.

 

Even if they did roleplay that one time, Clarke isn't hers in any way. No matter what her body is telling her. She doesn't _consider_ Clarke hers.

 

Or so she thinks, until she enters the kitchen one day to find some snacks for her tired brain and finds Clarke chatting with another blonde girl, both of them in various states of undress. Clarke is wearing her usual robe; Lexa’s come to think of it as Clarke’s morally ambiguous hero robe. The girl has Clarke’s shorts and a band t-shirt on, and Lexa tries not to look at the way she’s tracing her fingers up and down Clarke’s arm.

 

She’s contemplating turning around and leaving when the girl notices her and speaks in a lovely, mild voice. “Oh. Hello.” She casts a quick glance at Clarke. “I’m Niylah. You’re Clarke’s sister, right?”

 

Lexa’s eyes meet Clarke’s briefly and she struggles not to cringe. “Step sister, yes.”

 

“Not even that yet, really,” Clarke adds. She looks as uncomfortable as Lexa feels, just for a second before it’s gone and she’s smiling again. “Lexa, Niylah. Niylah, Lexa.”

 

She’s never introduced her to any of her conquests before.

 

Niylah is nice enough, Lexa thinks. She’s soft-spoken and pretty, and she definitely looks older than them but Lexa’s long since learned not to question Clarke’s choices. She likes tea and poetry and genuinely laughs at Clarke’s jokes.

 

Lexa feels like a stranger in her own kitchen, so she stands up and leaves with a customary 'it was nice to meet you' and a long look at Clarke.

 

The blonde averts her eyes first and Lexa nods to herself as she goes back to the study.

 

It doesn't really mean anything, Lexa tells herself. She's not sure what exactly she's talking about.

 

When she bumps into Niylah again, she gets her answer.

 

(Whatever she and Clarke had, it never meant anything.)

 

Niylah is about to close the door to Clarke's room when Lexa emerges from hers, ready for her morning jog. She blinks at the older blonde, surprised. No one, besides Lexa, has ever been to Clarke's room twice as far as she knows.

 

(But it never meant anything.)

 

"Hey," the blonde whispers, smiling at her in greeting. "Did I wake you?"

 

Lexa looks down at herself, clearly decked in running gear and lifts her eyes to meet Niylah's again, raising an eyebrow.

 

"Right." The other girl chuckles. "Going for a run."

 

"Yes," Lexa says, still staring at her. The blonde shifts on her feet, visibly uncomfortable. Lexa finds she doesn't particularly care. She's still baffled at seeing her again.

 

"Um, Clarke is still asleep," Niylah informs her. "Do you know how she likes her tea?"

 

Lexa blinks and locks her jaw. "She doesn't drink tea."

 

She turns and leaves Niylah standing there as she descends the stairs. For the very first time, she regrets not taking her headphones with her. Beautiful scenery isn't enough to drown her thoughts out.

 

The third time she sees Niylah, it's kind of her own fault. Clarke and her have an unspoken agreement: when the blonde has a guest over, Lexa stays in the study and Clarke keeps her door closed. Except that right now Lexa's in the hallway, and Clarke's door is wide open because she wasn't expecting her to be home so early. Indra had to cancel practice for personal reasons and Lexa came home two hours earlier than she usually does on Wednesdays. Two long, glorious hours for Clarke to spend however she pleases.

 

She should've known Clarke would be having sex. She should've gone to a coffee shop or a music store or anywhere but the house. But she stupidly chose to drive home.

 

Lexa goes over the sequence of events that led her to this moment, to her watching Clarke kneel before a sitting Niylah, her face hidden between the older blonde's legs. She wanted to stop by the coffee shop and get a latte but it felt weird going there on any day other than Friday. She almost went to the movies but found nothing worth watching. If she got home later, maybe Niylah would have already left. Or, maybe it would have been Clarke's turn and Lexa would have heard them, well, _her_ , right after entering the house, and she would have left and given Clarke time to finish up. Would have driven around town or went to get a smoothie. But she walked in at this exact moment when Clarke was giving head to Niylah who generally wasn't very vocal in bed. She didn't hear them. She couldn't hear them. She went up the stairs, frustrated at being thrown off her schedule, and was greeted by Niylah's quiet sighs and the curve of Clarke's bare ass as she kneeled in front of her.

 

This hot, heavy flash in her chest is an unpleasant feeling and Lexa doesn't want to experience this again. She wants to storm into her room and slam the door. She wants to storm into Clarke's room and throw Niylah out. She does neither.

 

The door quietly clicks as she slips inside her father's study, taking her books and headphones out.

 

When Niylah leaves, she enters Clarke's room and spends an hour sinking her teeth and nails in the marks Niylah left behind. The blonde doesn't mind one bit and by the end of it, she's too weak to throw Lexa out. She simply falls asleep, passes out more like it, breathing deep and even, and Lexa has to drag herself out of Clarke's bed. She feels better for a whole minute before her eyes fall on Clarke's sketchbook on the nightstand. It's opened on the unfinished drawing on Niylah, naked and lounging on Clarke's bed.

 

Lexa doesn't have any problem leaving Clarke's room anymore. She does find it a little hard to breathe.

 

//

 

The feeling, heavy and suffocating, doesn't go away. It sits under her heart, and it's – it's distracting. Yes. That is the word Lexa would use to describe it. It's distracting, and she reasons that in order for it to go way, she needs to get rid of the source. She's not about to throw a pillowcase on Clarke's head and drive to the woods and leave her cooling body there. She is, however, about to cut certain ties with her step sister.

 

“Since when do you knock?” Clarke grins at her as she opens her door. She looks like she was about to shower: a robe and a messy bun. The again, that's what Clarke wears around the house most of the time. She could have been simply relaxing.

 

The blonde grabs the front of her shirt and tugs her close, trying to capture her lips, but Lexa turns her face and Clarke's mouth meets her cheek instead.

 

“Can we talk?” she says quietly, causing Clarke to furrow her brows.

 

“Yeah, sure. Come in.” Lexa slides past Clarke, smoothing her hands over the wrinkles the blonde has left on her shirt. They aren't going away any time soon. Lexa sighs. She was much more tolerant about this when she knew she'd get laid after.

 

She doesn't really know where to start, so she simply blurts it out. “I think we should stop.”

 

To Clarke's credit, she doesn't act confused. Her frown deepens. “Why?”

 

Lexa doesn't like to use this word, but the question is pretty stupid. She raises her eyebrows at Clarke. “Why?” she repeats, incredulous.

 

“Yes. Why?”

 

“Clarke,” Lexa sighs. “What we're doing – it isn't right. We're about to become sisters.”

 

The blonde snorts. “ _Step_ sisters,” she points out. “Stop giving me bullshit reasons. Me being a minor would've been more believable.”

 

Clarke's right, of course. But _because_ she's right, Lexa bristles. She may be right, but she doesn't _have_ a right to question Lexa's decisions.

 

“You're seeing someone,” she says and oh, this is not the door she wanted to open but Clarke has this weird effect on her. “How's that for a reason?” This is completely unnecessary, she chastises herself. But it's too late. Clarke's eyes flash with understanding that's quickly replaced by anger and it's the kind of blazing that Lexa doesn't want to see. She's used to a different kind of passion in her gaze. And that's the thing. She's gotten used to it. That's the whole problem.

 

“Wow,” Clarke says and, despite the word, she's looking positively unimpressed. “You're a lot of things, Lexa, but I would've never guessed one of them is a coward.”

 

How entirely unsurprising. Lexa stares at her, keeping her face blank. She knows how unnerving it is to Clarke. “Enlighten me,” she says, her voice even. “How am I a coward?”

 

“Oh, I think you know how,” Clarke sneers. She's clutching the ends of her robe, keeping it closed. Lexa's fingers itch to tie it for her. She keeps still. “You know,” Clarke repeats. “You're afraid – or you don't want to admit this... this _something_ , and-”

 

No. No, Lexa's not going there.

 

“This _something_?” she asks, interrupting Clarke rather rudely. “You mean the something where you manipulated me into your bed? _That_ something? Where you played with me until you got what you wanted? You call me a coward, yet you're the one who couldn't come forward with it.” She's never lied more than in this moment. It seems Clarke's keen on bringing out the worst in her.

 

Another lie.

 

Clarke's face is practically red. “I may be a hypocrite, Lexa, but you're a liar.” Her blue eyes search Lexa's face and her mouth twists in displeasure when she seemingly doesn't find whatever it is she's looking for. “You know what? I don't want to look at you anymore. Get the fuck out.”

 

Lexa takes a deep breath. This conversation went exactly the way she feared it would. "I suggest we keep it civil," she tries.

 

"I suggest you go on a wonderful erotic quest full of self discovery."

 

She frowns. "Excuse me?"

 

Clarke snorts, "Go fuck yourself, Lexa." and promptly storms off. Lexa stays in her room for several seconds, listening as Clarke tumbles down the stairs, and leaves when she concludes Clarke's somewhere downstairs.

 

As far as productive discussions go, this was not one of them.

 

 


	3. she's the one popcorn and romcoms are made for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eliza Did That™ and i'm running out of bottles to pop so here, ssau is now 7 chapters long

There is no point in putting her phone on silent. There are exactly three people who text her, and zero people who call her. Lexa never really considered it all that bad or upsetting. Tonight, it becomes a small blessing. If she had a habit of putting it on mute, there is a good chance she would have slept through a sudden night call.

 

But it's ringing loud and clear and Lexa barely manages to open one eye, blindingly searching for her phone and swearing when she knocks it off the nightstand.

 

“Hello.” her voice is rough and sleep-laden. She doesn't even bother looking at the caller ID. Unless Anya is back in town for a surprise visit, there is only one person who would be calling her at 2 in the morning.

 

On the other end of the line, Clarke is silent, and Lexa is about to sigh and end the call when she finally speaks. “Can you come pick me up?” These are the first words Clarke's said to her in a week. They are slurred and mumbled. Lexa imagines her step sister sway in a hallway of someone's house, spilling her drink and holding onto a wall.

 

She sighs. “It's late, Clarke,” she points out, voice still scratchy.

 

“Shit.” Clarke curses, and she hears a crashing noise before the other girl speaks again. “I know.” the words are smudged now. Something coils in the pit of Lexa's stomach, then, cold and dreadful. Clarke doesn't sound like that. This isn't her usual voice. “I'm – I don't feel so good.”

 

Lexa doesn't even realize she's already standing and grabbing her sweatpants when Clarke mumbles again. “Lexa, please.”

 

“Stay on the phone with me,” Lexa orders. Her mind is instantly sharp and crisp, jolted out of its sleepy state as soon as the dread starts to rise to her throat. It claws at her chest, urgent and so, so cold. “Where are you?”

 

“Finn's,” Clarke mumbles. Finn Collins. Of course. The complicated mess of an ex. Lexa should've known, really. Neither Octavia nor Raven go to Finn's parties. Neither Octavia nor Raven would've let this happen. At least she hopes so. She hopes this hasn't happened in the past, when Clarke couldn't call her for whatever reasons the girl had at the time. She really, really hopes so.

 

Clarke never sounds like that.

 

“Clarke,” she snaps when the girl doesn't reply. “Stay on the phone with me. And don't drink anything else.”

 

She spends her entire ride to Finn's house instructing Clarke to lock herself in a bathroom and try to throw up. Thankfully, the girl drank enough to manage that with no problem. Lexa's never thought the sound of retching would bring her relief, yet here she is.

 

Her parking job is far from precise when she pulls up in front of Finn's house, and her fingers tremble just slightly when she clutches her phone, Clarke still on speaker, not retching and not saying anything either. There are no sounds. Thank God, Lexa thinks.

 

She doesn't have time to think why Clarke hasn't called Niylah first.

 

She storms inside, bass lines and loud laughter washing over her, and barely refrains from grabbing Finn by his hair when she spots him in the kitchen, mixing drinks. She knows he wasn't the one to spike Clarke's drink. She's not even completely sure Clarke's drink was spiked, but she knows Clarke never drinks to the point of passing out.

 

_Clarke's never sounded like that._

 

Finn's eyes flash with surprise when he sees her. “Lexa?” he blinks, rubbing his red eyes. “Am I tripping or are you actually out of bed past ten?” He grins.

 

Lexa doesn't smile back.  


“Where's your bathroom?”

 

He almost chokes on his drink. “Um.” She really doesn't have time for his pretty frowns. “You don't have one at your own house?”

 

“It's Clarke.” She really should have started with that, she thinks, when he sobers up immediately and puts his drink down.

 

“Upstairs.”

 

She really doesn't want him to, but Finn follows her, concern written all over his face, and it's so hard not to snap at him. It's his party and his house and Clarke's supposedly his friend. He was supposedly in love with her, and Clarke had felt something for him, too: something strong enough for her to never talk about it. And yet, it's Lexa who is there for her when she needs someone. It's not that she wants a medal or a gratitude fuck. She doesn't care if Clarke never acknowledges this. It just irks her. Finn's useless concern that should have been there half an hour ago or so when someone slipped something in Clarke's drink in hopes of – but Lexa doesn't want to think about it.

 

She silently fumes at Finn and stops before the bathroom door, glaring at him.

 

“Thank you,” she practically snarls. “I'll take it from here.” After a short staring contest, Finn shakes his head and leaves. Lexa has precisely zero idea about what happened between him, Clarke, and, to some extent, Raven, if she were to believe school rumors, but the way he didn't even try to get past her is upsetting. Not for her, obviously. Clarke.

 

She knocks on the door, hoping Clarke is still awake. The call is still on, and she puts the phone to her ear. “Clarke, I'm at the door,” she says. “It's me. Open the door.”

 

To her surprise, when the door opens, Clarke is standing upright, if a little unstable. She's flushed, and her make up is as smudged as her speech was. But other than that, she appears okay. Lexa walks into the bathroom, steading her step sister and looking over her quickly. Checking her dress. ( _Not torn, not rumpled. The zipper is intact.)_ Checking her arms. ( _No bruises. No scratches._ ) Finally, gently grabbing her face and looking at her eyes.

 

Her pupils are blown. Fuck.

 

“Did you throw up?” she asks, pointlessly. She already knows Clarke did. She heard her.

 

Her step sister nods, and Lexa is relieved to note some of her fierce flush is fading. “I got most of it out, I think.” At Lexa's sharp glance, she tries to smile. “Not my first rodeo. I realized I was roofied about halfway through the drink. Tried to find Finn.” she sniffed. “Called you.”

 

Lexa watches as Clarke walks to the toilet, her legs wobbly, and sits on a closed lid, rubbing her temples. They are silent for several seconds, and Lexa spends them studying her. The curve of her lips is trembling, most likely uncontrollably, as do her hands when she tries to support her head on them. Residual muscle relaxation, she thinks. Clarke's arms give out, finally, and Lexa's at her side in an instant, holding her head up.

 

She's never considered herself to be prone to violence, but right now, she sees the red of Clarke's cheeks and her fists itch. She added boxing to her workout routine again. That will be useful when she's tearing the bastard who did this apart with her bare hands.

 

“Who did this?” her voice is low and calm. Too calm. Clarke knows that voice, she's been on the receiving end of it a couple of times. That's why blue eyes focus on her face and a pale, cold hand shoots out to grip Lexa's forearm.

 

“Lexa, don't. I don't know who it was. I should've paid better attention to my drink anyway.”

 

Lexa feels her blood boil. “It's not your fault.”

 

Clarke snorts. “I _know_ it's not my fault,” she says. “But precautions never hurt anyone.” she's still slurring her words, and 'precautions' come out sounding like rather warped 'percussions'. Lexa watches pink tongue wet pale lips, and only now realizes she's still holding Clarke's head, absentmindedly stroking her hair. The only reason she doesn't yank her hand back is because Clarke is leaning into it, and if she makes any sudden movements, her step sister might fall over.

 

She sighs. “Let's go home.”

 

Clarke is silent on the way back, and her hand rests near gear stick, fingers twitching from time to time.

 

//

 

“I'm sorry,” is the first thing Lexa walks into when she comes back from her jog. Clarke is standing in the kitchen, already dresses for school, wearing dark skinny jeans and a plaid shirt. She's also holding a cup of something that vaguely smells like tea and, when she notices Lexa's pointed look, she shrugs. “I tried brewing tea. As a thank you for, um, last night. Don't drink that.”

 

“Okay.” Lexa nods and opens the fridge. It's avocado and whole wheat toast today. “I forgive you for your poor tea making skills.” Yes, so she might be slightly unhappy with Clarke at the moment. Partly because she has slept for a whooping three hours and partly because even though it's been a week, she still feels discontent with the way Clarke has handled their conversation.

 

Her step sister sighs. “That's not what I was apologizing for,” she mutters. Lexa's eyebrows go up. Oh. As far as apologies go, this isn't the best one. Although Lexa wouldn't know. She doesn't have much to compare it to.

 

“Oh,” she says, and pours the tea Clarke made into the sink, wincing at the bitter scent. The girl should definitely stick to coffee. Lexa's become accustomed to the smell, anyway. It's been missing in the kitchen the last couple of days. Not that she missed it. She simply noticed the absence. Of the coffee smell. Okay, maybe Clarke's, too. It's hard not to notice when someone is actively avoiding you.

 

Now, Clarke's presence is overbearing.

 

“I mean it, you know,” her step sister says quietly. “I'm sorry for... For pressuring you. It was a fucked up thing to do. If you want to stop our arrangement, I understand. Well, I don't. But you don't have to explain your decision to me. It's not like...” she isn't looking at Clarke, but she imagines a frown marring her features during her brief pause. “Um. So, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off on you like that.”

 

“You didn't,” Lexa points out blankly. “You just told me to go fuck myself and left.”

 

“Yeah, that was me going off, actually.”

 

“Oh. I always imagine the going off process to take longer.” she says. She's still not looking at her, instead busying herself with checking the expiration date on the milk carton.

 

“It's highly unlikely it's gone bad since yesterday,” Clarke points out. She's still holding the cup, Lexa notes as she gives her a sideways glance.

 

“I know.”

 

“But you still check to see if it's fresh,” the girl clarifies.

 

Lexa blinks. “Yes.” She expects her to scoff in irritation. Instead, she finds Clarke looking at her cup, contemplating something. “Huh,” says the blonde.

 

The conversation is progressing nicely so far.

 

She puts everything on the counter and turns to face Clarke who's fiddling with the cup. Lexa gets a sudden urge to take it and – smash it, maybe, or pour it over Clarke's head. She settles for a long sigh. “Thank you,” she says. “I accept your apology.” She's not sure she does, but the sooner they forget about this whole thing, the sooner everything will go back to normal. She's been too distracted lately. Cutting Clarke out hasn't been as productive as she's originally thought. Indra has commented on her lack of concentration, and up to this morning, she was sure she'd do less than satisfactory on her upcoming test. But, with Clarke willing to bury the hatchet that's been haunting Lexa the past couple of days, maybe things will get back on track.

 

She should probably take part in burying, too. “I'm sorry, too. I've been too harsh with my words.” There are words she shouldn't have said. Words she didn't even mean.

 

“Well,” Clarke gives her a wry grin. Their eyes meet, finally, and it's a jolt of shock through Lexa's system. Electric blue. “Truth is supposed to hurt, isn't it?”

 

Is it?

 

“You haven't really manipulated me. I wanted you, too.”

 

Clarke shrugs. “I know. It made things easier.” She sighs, suddenly agitated, and places the cup on the table. Some of the liquid spills. Lexa watches as droplets land on the surface, trickling down the side of the mug.

 

“Well, as I said. I accept your apology.” She's wondering about Clarke's change of heart, of course. But she doesn't have much time and she wanted to drive to school earlier today to discuss her essay with her lit teacher. “I don't wanna be late, so...” she gestures vaguely, indicating she has to go. Clarke nods.

 

“Right. So, it's all good?”

 

“Sure.” She isn't, not really. And she doesn't want to think of the possible reason, but, as she's about to leave, Clarke brings it up herself.

 

“I'm not seeing Niylah, by the way.” her back is facing Clarke when the blonde utters the words, and she's not turning. “Never have. She's a good friend. We were always casual.” She hears the girl clear her throat. “And we aren't even that right now.” Lexa thinks of the _right now_ and possible implications of _not yet_ , and her back stiffens.

 

They were casual as well, weren't they?

 

“Okay,” she simply replies. “I'm... sorry to hear that?” She turns her head so she's looking at Clarke over her shoulder. The girl is studying her carefully, and Lexa doesn't know whether or not she finds the thing she was looking for. Then, Clarke lets out a small sigh and shrugs, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt.

 

“You shouldn't be. It never meant anything.”

 

Lexa hates the way her stomach churns at Clarke's last phrase. “I was wondering why didn't you ask her to pick you up yesterday,” she says. “I guess now I have my answer.”

 

Clarke looks like she wants to say something, but Lexa doesn't have to look at her watch to know she really is off schedule. “Sorry, I have to...”

 

“Right. Just, one more thing. I really am sorry and I really am grateful for last night.”

 

Lexa is so late, but she can't help the words that fall off her tongue next. “I'm never one to tell people what to do, Clarke,” she says. “But last night was a clear prodrome.”

 

It's really hard to ignore the way Clarke's nose scrunches up cutely. “Prodrome.”

 

“A warning sign,” Lexa elaborates. “I know you're capable of taking care of yourself, but...” _I was scared. You scared me._ “It's always good to have your friends around. Look out for each other. Clearly Finn isn't an ideal candidate.” she can't help but sneer. Clarke rolls her eyes, and it takes Lexa a moment to realize she isn't rolling her eyes at _her._

 

“I know.” That's the most Clarke appears to be willing to talk about him, and Lexa accepts it with a nod. “You're right. People are assholes and it's better to have your own assholes with you. That... didn't come out right.” The girl sighs, wrapping her arms around herself. “You did a good job taking care of me yesterday, though,” she points out. Her voice is warm, and Lexa isn't very used to it. She blinks. “Who knows, maybe we'll learn to actually be decent step-siblings,” Clarke laughs.

 

It feels forced.

 

“Yeah,” Lexa winced. “I think that ship has sailed.”

 

Clarke shrugs. “You never know.” She glances at her watch. Her late father's watch, Lexa's learned not so long ago. Much like with Finn, Clarke doesn't talk about it. “You're gonna have to move it if you want to make it to school early.”

 

Shit. “Okay. See you later?” Clarke nods, one side of her mouth quirked up, and Lexa hurries up the stairs. She hates rushing but she really does need to talk to her teacher about the essay.

 

In her hurry, she doesn't have time to question how Clarke figured out she wanted to be at school earlier.

 

//

 

Their tentative truce is going better than Lexa thought it would. But it's still rather precarious. Clarke doesn't bring people home when Lexa is around, so it's almost like she's not seeing anyone at all. But long nights alone in the house without the blonde tell Lexa otherwise.

 

They are slowly but surely settling into their own routine as days pass. Clarke, it seems, has figured out Lexa's schedule long ago. Early on, she's used it to get on her nerves. Now, however, she's building her life in The Woods' residence around it. She knows precisely when to appear and when to leave Lexa alone – and, if Lexa's honest with herself, the latter is becoming more and more unnecessary. Clarke's given up the pretense of reading while Lexa's doing her homework in the kitchen, instead browsing through her phone and silently sharing cut up fruit with her. Sometimes, they toss small phrases back and forth. Mostly school stuff. Sometimes, general stuff. And, sometimes, those general stuff lead to interesting discoveries that Lexa finds herself oddly enjoying.

 

This Wednesday is a good example.

 

She's finishing up with her calculus assignment when Clarke breezes past the kitchen island she's seated at, stealing a strawberry from Lexa's plate. Her robe is back, but now, it's untied and she's got shorts and a _Captain America_ t-shirt underneath. Huh. She pegged Clarke for _Iron Man_ type of girl. Then again, maybe she just doesn't know much about the characters. The whole marvel hype kind of blew past her, and she doesn't have time nor the energy to get into it.

 

“Well fuck me,” Clarke mutters as she plops on the chair opposite of Lexa, not taking her eyes off her phone. “They do have knees.”

 

Lexa can't resist. “The bees?”

 

“What?” It's like Clarke only just realized Lexa's here. Her eyes are just a touch bleary and unfocused, and she blinks several times. Lexa hides her amused smile.

 

“You know. The bee's knees.”

 

“Oh.” Clarke doesn't look like she finds it funny. She's still frowning, deep in thoughts. Perhaps, she's still trying to comprehend whatever it is she found about knees and who has them. “No, penguins.”

 

Now it's Lexa's turn to look perplexed. “Penguins?”

 

Clarke's eyes light up. “Yeah. They actually have them. Look.” she thrusts her phone at Lexa, and there is a detailed picture of a penguin skeleton. Their leg bones are actually much longer than she anticipated, Lexa notes. Most of it is hidden by their adorable body, although she doubts she'll find them as adorable anymore after she saw what they look like on the inside. It is slightly terrifying, actually. The skull definitely looks like something straight from a horror movie, and Lexa hates those.

 

She suppressed a shudder. “Huh,” she says. Clarke is fidgeting in her seat excitedly, seemingly past her earlier astonishment. Now, she looks proud of her discovery. “Cool. Any reason you're looking up penguin knees?” As amusing as this little anatomy lesson is, Clarke's sudden interest in the topic is much more fascinating.

 

Instead of answering, Clarke gives her a confused look. Lexa gives her one back, and blue eyes slowly widen with dawning realization.

 

“No way,” she mutters. “Didn't you see _Imagine Me and You?_ ” The name vaguely rings a bell, but vaguely is the key word. Lexa shakes her head, and Clarke's jaw drops. “ _How?_ ”

 

Lexa shrugs, feeling a little guilty, because Clarke is looking at her like she's seeing her for the first time. “I, uh, don't watch a lot of movies?”

 

“Unbelievable,” Clarke mutters, mostly to herself. “A complete fucking Disney collection and big ass Sappho books and she hasn't seen _Imagine Me and You._ It's like a lesbian rite of passage or something,” she says. “Well. _Girls loving girls_ rite of passage.”

 

Lexa can't help but give Clarke a small smile as she glances at her bisexuality pride bracelet the blonde always wears. “So inclusive.”

 

But Clarke doesn't allow her to change the topic. “Lexa,” she says, completely serious. “You have to watch it. Seriously. Whether you love it or hate it, it's an important piece of wlw media.” She pronounces ' _wlw'_ like ' _wuhluhwuh_ '. If she hasn't explained it to Lexa earlier, she probably wouldn't have guessed it was ' _women loving women_ '. In her head, she always pronounces it _double you-l-double you._ Which is exactly how it is written.

 

Any other day and any other person, Lexa probably would have nodded mutely and departed to her room. Probably. She'll never know. “Okay. Let's watch it, then.”

 

Judging by Clarke's expression, it's not what she expected. “What?”

 

“Let's watch it.”

 

“Right now?”

 

“Yeah.” Lexa stands up, gathering her books and notes, and Clarke looks at her with wide eyes, hands clutching her phone. “I'm free. If you're free, we can watch it right now. I'm intrigued.”

 

Clarke scrambles to her feet. “I'm free. I kinda always am.” That prompts a chuckle from both of them. Clarke _is_ free most of the time. Lexa was surprised to learn she's well above average in most of her classes, actually.

 

“Okay. I'll just dump these in my room,” Lexa holds her book up, and Clarke nods. “You may set up the tv and everything, and I'll make popcorn.”

 

“Okay. Yeah, sounds like a plan.” Clarke is still fiddling with her phone, and Lexa tilts her head as she regards her. It feels like Lexa's missing a piece of the puzzle, for some reason. But then, Clarke slips the phone inside her shorts' pocket and gives her an easy half-smile. “Meet you in the living room in five?”

 

“Yup.” Lexa lets the 'p' pop as she makes her way to her room.

 

“Oh, Lex, can you grab me something from my room? Something warm, I mean.” Clarke gestures down at herself. “Not very practical,” she notes with a small smirk.

 

Lexa follows the movement of her hand, lets her gaze drop to bare feet and flexing calves and toned thighs. She blinks. “Sure.”

 

She doesn't meet Clarke's eyes as she flees upstairs.

 

//

 

Sometimes, Lexa finds herself questioning her decision-making skills. Most of the time, when it comes to Clarke.

She couldn't make herself go into Clarke's room, even with the girl's permission. But she didn't want to leave Clarke to freeze to death during the movie. So Lexa quickly found a – genius, as she thought at the moment – solution. She grabbed her own sweatpants, a red hoodie – Anya's gift, with Woods written in the front in big bold white letters – and, after brief consideration, warm fuzzy socks. When she tumbled down the stairs, Clarke only raised an eyebrow, but other than that, she accepted the clothes without a word, quickly tugging them on.

 

Now, Clarke is standing before her wearing her clothes with her name on them, and it shouldn't be a problem, but it is. For one, she can't take her eyes off the girl.

 

Clarke looks down on herself. “They don't fit, do they?”

 

“No! No, they... They fit okay,” Lexa stammers. “The pants are a little too big. The hoodie is, too. It's big for me, too. The socks are, um, on point.”

 

One blonde eyebrow flies up, again. “Right. The socks were a good call. Thanks.” Her sarcasm is easily detectable, but it lacks malice, like most of their interactions do lately. It's nice, Lexa has to admit.

 

“You're welcome,” Lexa offers automatically. Her step sister chuckles.

 

“So... The movie's ready. You said something about popcorn?”

 

“Yeah.” Lexa has to blink to tear her gaze away. She already knows the image of Clarke in her hoodie is burned on the inside of her eyelids, though. “Be right back.”

 

To her surprise, Clarke doesn't offer to follow. She's grateful for that, at least. “Okay.”

 

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Documentaries are one thing. An actual movie with popcorn is – well. Lexa's not so sure she wants to go there. Friends have movies nights, too, don't they?

 

Are they friends now?

 

It doesn't take her long to make enough popcorn to feed a small army – or just Clarke. She enters the living room with a fresh batch. Its scent fills up the room, and Clarke sighs as she inhales. Lexa manages not to drop it.

 

“I swear, you make the best microwave popcorn I've ever had,” her step sister confesses, scooting on the couch so Lexa can sit. She grabs a handful when Lexa sets the bowl on the coffee table, and Lexa curses under her breath. She knows the way Clarke likes to eat her popcorn. She really should've gone with nachos or, better yet, no snacks at all. But now it's too late, and she tries not to fidget at Clarke's quiet moan.

 

 _She hasn't heard her in several weeks._ The realization is startling.

 

Clarke starts the movie.

 

Surprisingly, Lexa finds herself mildly invested. It isn't the end all be all, but that's not what she was expecting from the start. It's light and entertaining, and she chuckles at the right moments and sighs at the right moments, too. Up until the kissing scene.

 

That goddamn kissing scene. She watches women on screen melt into each other, knocking each other over in their passionate hurry, and she sucks in a sharp breath. Inevitably, she glances at Clarke. Inevitably, Clarke is staring back, and the air thickens and looms over their heads.

 

_She hasn't touched her in several weeks._

 

Clarke's eyes are earnest and dark, yet she makes no move. She doesn't take her gaze off Lexa, either. She's waiting, Lexa realizes. She's waiting and she's as unsure as Lexa feels.

 

This is a very bad idea. That's what Lexa tells herself when her eyes fall to Clarke's lips. That's what Lexa tells herself when she blindly reaches for remote and turns the tv off. That's what her mind screams at her when she leans in. Bad, bad idea. That's what makes it so enticing.

 

This is purely on instinct, and Lexa marvels at how she just _acts_. Impulsively. All because of this girl in front of her. Clarke is changing her, and she doesn't know whether it's good or bad, and right now, she doesn't really care. She just wants her.

 

Clarke gasps against her lips just before they meet in a slow kiss, and the hot puff of air makes Lexa shudder.

 

_She hasn't kissed her in several weeks._

 

She still tastes the same under sugary popcorn and fresh mint. She still sounds the same, needy sighs and sweet moans. _Feels_ the same, soft and warm and absolutely intoxicating. At first, Lexa wants to explore and re-learn her body, but she's suddenly overcome with urgency as soon as Clarke's taste is on her tongue.

 

She just wants her. She feels drunk, out of her body. Hazy, with only one objective clear in mind. Feel as much of Clarke as possible.

 

Clarke huffs, surprised, when Lexa practically lifts her and then flips her on her back, settling in between her thighs. Clarke's legs automatically wrap around Lexa's waist, and the simple gesture is enough to drive her crazy. More than she already was.

 

“Lexa,” Clarke whispers, and she dives right back in, greedily drinking her moans. She doesn't know how long do they stay like this on the couch, desperately kissing and pawing at each other. She's lost touch with most of reality, but she's hyper aware of Clarke's body under her, writhing and arching and longing. The scent of her shampoo, the smooth skin of her neck. Her hands in her hair, on her shoulders, clutching her back.

 

At some point, Clarke loses her pants, and Lexa's shirt is clawed off her. The ache between her legs is throbbing. Clarke starts to sound more impatient, and Lexa thinks she's got the same problem. She's more than happy to accommodate her. But just before they get to it, she sits back on her heels, breathing heavily and looking over Clarke with hunger. The girl's breathing is as ragged as hers. She watches as her chest heaves up and down, and there is a sharp, pleasant pang in her chest when she reads her name on it. Something oddly satisfying.

 

She tugs Clarke's shorts down her legs together with her underwear and leaves the hoodie on. Clarke doesn't object. But, as she lowers her mouth to Clarke's ready core, hooking Clarke's legs up on her shoulders and fully intending on making Clarke scream, she's stopped with a hand to her head.

 

“Later,” her step sister breathes huskily against her lips after she tugs Lexa up. “I want your fingers.”

 

Even if Lexa wanted, she wouldn't have been able to say _no_ to a voice like that. So she complies.

Clarke's first cry of the night is sharp, and filled with so much sheer _relief_ Lexa almost wants to laugh.

 

“Fuck, Clarke,” She whispers hotly, messily nibbling at her earlobe. “You always feel so good.”

 

“Shouldn't – _ah!_ God, Lexa... Shouldn't I be... be the one saying that?” Lexa misses the way Clarke tries to talk during sex. Broken and breathless.

 

“You shouldn't be saying anything at all,” she replies cheekily. She hopes her smirk lets Clarke know she's teasing. Blue eyes roll at her, but then screw shut for a whole other reason as Lexa spreads her fingers inside Clarke, carefully stretching her.

 

“...Fuck,” the girl moans. Lexa's inclined to agree. She sits back on her heels again, trying to ignore Clarke's weak protesting noise. She has something in mind, and she hopes Clarke will like it. She's actually surprised it's something they haven't tried before. She sheds her pants at breakneck speed, smiling apologetically at Clarke's pout when she has to pull out of her to do so. But, before Clarke has a chance to voice her displeasure, Lexa slips back inside, and Clarke's small whimper is her reward.

 

Blue eyes grow wide when she lifts Clarke's legs and places them on her shoulders. She bends down, then, carefully testing Clarke's flexibility. The blonde catches on and bends her knees slightly. It makes her even more open to Lexa. More accessible.

 

Clarke is gazing up at her with eager anticipation, and Lexa lets a shiver run down her spine. Damn this girl.

 

She has to pull her fingers out of Clarke again, but this time, the blonde doesn't protest. Both of them moan when Lexa's center finally makes contact with Clarke's, easily sliding against it. They are so, so ready, and it makes Lexa's head spin.

 

“Lexa.” Clarke's sigh is quieter than usual. Lexa's palms are flat against the couch surface as she hovers above the girl, and Clarke's hands come up to rest on her forearms, stroking and squeezing.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa echoes, and starts to move.

 

It's indescribable, feeling Clarke throb against her most intimate of places. Lexa can't help a string of curses falling from her lips, just like Clarke can't stop her near constant moaning at having Lexa's cunt slide against hers. It isn't the most ideal position, and sometimes they miss the spot, but Lexa is already on edge from the new feeling and from finally having Clarke again after all these weeks. She guesses Clarke's the same way, if her wild gaze and blunt nails down her biceps are any indication. Soon, their movements are sloppy and fast, and Lexa sits up, holding Clarke's legs up in the air, spread and bent at knees, as she thrusts into her with abandon.

 

It doesn't take too long until Clarke freezes, and Lexa, knowing fully well what that means, lets go with her.

 

She falls on Clarke as she shudders and curses through her orgasm. Clarke is right there with her, legs trembling under Lexa's hands. She can feel her throb against her abdomen – when she fell, her center on Clarke's cunt was replaced with her stomach. Clarke is hot and wet, and she presses into her, coaxing more moans from the girl. Her own orgasm isn't as prolonged, probably because of loos of contact, and she laments it briefly. At least Clarke is having fun, it seems.

 

She still snakes her hand down her own front, pressing against her clit and gasping into Clarke's waiting mouth. Several seconds later, and she's coming again, with her step sister raining kisses down her neck and collarbones.

 

“Fuck,” she moans, collapsing on Clarke again, this time contently spent and tingling all over. The girl chuckles.

 

“Fuck is right.”

  
They should probably talk, but Lexa isn't in the mood to talk. She's sleepy and Clarke is comfy. But then, the girl under her shifts and gives her another deep, thorough kiss, and sleep is the furthest thing on her mind.

 

“So,” Clarke says. “That was new.”

 

Lexa chuckles. “Educational, I'd say.” Her chuckles grow louder when the girl swats at her shoulder half-heartedly. “Did you like it?”

 

Clarke eyes her. “You were there,” she replies. “You tell me.”

 

“I might need to observe more to come to a concrete conclusion.”

 

Her answer is a slow, lazy grin. “I'm all for more observation.” Blue eyes twinkle. “Although I may have some trouble walking. I kinda can't feel my legs.”

 

Lexa sees right through it, but Clarke's grin is infectious and too cute to resist. “I know what you're doing,” she still feels the need to warn Clarke as she sits up, tugging the girl with her. Her step sister readily settles on her lap, and she stands up with the girl clinging to her, rolling her eyes at the delighted glee in her gaze.

 

Clarke shrugs. “And it's still working,” she points out, happily hoisted up on Lexa's hips. She goes to say something else, and that's when Lexa decides to draw the line, smashing their lips together and reveling in the needy noises Clarke makes as she takes her to her room.

 

She doesn't want to be confused tonight.

 

She just wants her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip blarke 
> 
> come yell at me on my tumblr
> 
> next chapters will be longer this one is the shortest


	4. she's the one making hearts go awry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's unbeta-ed so hard i apologize

 

“What happened to stopping?”

 

Clarke sure doesn't pull any punches. She's lying on her side, head propped up on her hand, as she studies Lexa who's still struggling to catch her breath. So very familiar, Lexa thinks – having Clarke in her bed, with sweat cooling off and heartbeats only just slowing down. She glances at her phone. Almost two.

 

Clarke's fingers are lazily drawing invisible circles on her stomach, and she can't find it in herself to even pretend to be mad.

 

“Well,” she starts cautiously. “It's... clearly not an option with us.”

 

The other girl snickers. “Clearly.” She appears completely at ease as she stares at Lexa. Several hours of good sex will do that, Lexa supposes. She feels at ease, too. Tired and spent. Her eyes venture down to Clarke's neck and chest, heaving delicately with breaths, and her body responds, filling up with sweet, throbbing ache all over.

 

Clarke's eyes are clear and piercing. She has no trouble focusing on Lexa's face. Lexa, however, can't say the same. Her gaze can't stay in one place. It jumps from her bare shoulder to the curve of her waist and hip. Clarke's chest is mostly hidden by a thin sheet, and Lexa finds herself entranced with it, with the way it looks on Clarke, easy and comfortable and so, so alluring. Her skin is glistening with cooling sweat. Her neck is covered in marks, fading already – Lexa didn't intend for them to stay, well, not in such visible a place, anyway. The evidence of _them_. She doesn't even realize she's reaching out until her fingers glide over skin, gently tugging the sheet down and revealing full breasts and pink nipples. Clarke chuckles as Lexa slowly pushes her on her back, hovering above the girl and watching blonde locks scatter on her pillow, each hair seemingly falling into its place.

 

“I take it you're not in the mood for pillow talk,” she drawls, gladly opening her neck to Lexa's insistent lips.

 

“Is that what we were doing?” Lexa mumbles into her skin. She really wants to know how Clarke manages to smell so good even under such circumstances. Lexa needs to take two showers daily to ensure herself her scent is fine. Sometimes, it seems to her that she doesn't even have a scent anymore, and she's more than okay with it. But Clarke - even when she sometimes misses a shower or two, her scent is intoxicating.

 

Clarke sighs, and her head falls back. “If you want,” she says. “Then yes, that's what we were doing.”

 

“I'm not much of a talker.”

 

That gets a short laugh from her step sister. “Biggest lie I've ever been told,” Clarke says. “And I dated Finn Collins.” The piece of information falls from her tongue so effortlessly it's easy to forget the heavy undercurrent. But Lexa rarely forgets anything, if ever.

 

She tries very hard not to freeze. Not to make this anything more than it needs to be. “I meant I'm not much of a talker when I'm not having sex,” she points out. “And we're not having sex right now.”

 

She lifts her head, practically forcing herself to stop assaulting Clarke's neck, and looks at her. Blue eyes twinkle with barely hidden gratitude, and Lexa gives herself a mental pat on the back for making a good call. She wasn't particularly looking forward to discussing sleazy exes, and she's glad Clarke's slip up has been successfully glossed over.

 

“Well,” the blonde smirks. “Looks like we're heading that way, so... You still lied, Lexa.” She leans up, propping herself up on her elbows, so that her lips brush against Lexa's when she speaks. “You're _very_ much of a talker.”

 

Lexa's eyes blaze green. “Fine. Let me narrow it down for you.” She pushes at Clarke, making her plop on her back, and leans in. “I don't talk much unless I'm buried knuckle-deep inside you.”

 

The girl smirks. “Now you're just all _talk_ ,” she taunts.

 

Lexa feels laughter rumble in her chest. “I think we've exhausted this particular topic.” her laughter grows when Clarke rolls them over, straddling her hips and giving her a wicked grin.

 

“Then let's start a new one,” the girl breathes into her lips.

 

Lexa's agreement is a sharp gasp.

 

//

 

Clarke leaves when it's time for Lexa to wake up. Although, technically, she can't exactly wake up if she never fell asleep in the first place. So, technically, Clarke didn't spend the night, Lexa reasons. She's very well aware it's a flimsy excuse.

 

Clarke leaves with a sated quirk of her lips, and her back, covered in marks from Lexa's mouth and nails, makes her grin, too. All-nighter well worth it. It's even more worth it when she watches Clarke wince through chuckling as she sits next to Lexa at breakfast.

 

“Rough night?” Lexa can never resist around this girl. Her step sister replies with an eye roll and a half-hearted shove at her shoulder.

 

“You're unfair,” she mutters. “Up all night and you still look...” Blue eyes glaze over for a second as Clarke gives her a once-over. “Like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Now you're just fishing.”

 

Lexa shrugs. She was.

 

They eat breakfast in relatively comfortable silence. Relatively, because they keep glancing at each other, both obviously trying to figure it out. Figure them out. Well, at least Lexa is; she can't for the life of her decipher Clarke's stares. She can, however, easily see that the girl is tired. Their high has worn off, and now she's hit with no sleep and rather... demanding activities she spent the night doing. Lexa's almost sure Clarke will crash around midday, if not earlier.

 

“Maybe you should skip,” she says when her step sister tries to add an obscene amount of sugar to her coffee and misses the mug. She hides her amused smile behind the rim of her cup.

 

Clarke's eyes, droopy with lack of sleep, fly open. “Is _Lexa Woods_ telling me to skip school?” There is only a hint of mocking.

 

“There is a high chance of you blacking out while driving,” Lexa points out. It's a legitimate worry. The blonde isn't notorious for her superior driving skills, and Lexa fears to think what she'll be like when she's this tired.

 

Clarke scoffs. “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

 

She merely smiles. “Yours.”

 

“Ugh. You suck. And no,” one indignant finger shoots up, waving in front of Lexa's face menacingly. “You don't get to make a dirty joke.”

 

Lexa blinks. “You do realize who you're talking to, right?” She's almost never one for dirty jokes. Especially such overused ones. You suck – yes I do! It's not even all that funny.

 

But Clarke clearly doesn't agree. “Oh I'm sorry,” she flutters her lashes. “Am I or am I not talking to the girl who _destroyed_ me last night?”

 

Lexa chokes on her tea. A soothing hand rubbing circles on her back feels mocking, but she'll take it.

 

Clarke's eyes are amused and filled with laughter. “How are you the same person who ruins my panties with a couple of _words?_ ” she asks. Fondness of her tone is unmistakable, and it's evident in the way she tucks a chestnut lock behind her ear, too. Lexa isn't sure if that's what causes the atmosphere to shift next, but yes, it's absolutely that.

 

She clears her throat as Clarke stands, a little abruptly, almost knocking her chair over. She helps her steady it, and blinks at the flush she finds on the girl's cheeks. Embarrassment, no doubt. Hormones make teens do the strangest of things.

 

“Sorry,” Clarke mutters. “It's the, um. Lack of sleep.” Both of them blush. Lexa busies herself with gathering their dishes and putting them in the sink. She can feel Clarke hovering near. When she looks at her, the girl is still fiddling with her chair, not looking at her, and Lexa isn't sure, but it seems to her that Clarke just finished letting out a shaky breath. Perhaps her own lack of sleep is making itself known, too.

 

“I still think you should skip,” Lexa says.

 

Clarke starts, finally lifting her eyes to Lexa's face. Not for the first time, Lexa finds herself fascinated by how blue they are. She's always thought the phrase was lame, but then she met Clarke, and yes, it's definitely possible to drown in someone's eyes, if only because of their uncanny resemblance to a clear summer lake.

 

“I'll take the bus,” Clarke says. And yawns, blinking sleepily. Smacks her lips together. 

 

Lexa's hearts suddenly leaps into her throat, and she swallows it down forcefully. She's pretty sure she says what she says next just so she doesn't have to give this _something_ tugging at her chest a second thought. "I can give you a ride. If you want.” 

 

Clarke's quiet 'okay' rings in her ears as she drives to school, her step sister gently snoring in the passenger seat.

 

//

 

Clarke doesn't initiate sex, and Lexa lets her be. The kitchen incident caused her to think some things through. Over and over, losing sleep, twisting and turning in her bed well past midnight.

 

It's pointless to ignore the way Lexa's heart stops and restarts every time she sees her step sister. And Lexa doesn't waste her time with pointless things. But try as she might, she can't figure Clarke out, and she's not ashamed to admit that the prospect of simply asking terrifies her. The whole situation is throwing her off-balance.

 

And, even though she probably should, she doesn't stop having sex with her. This isn't like the first time, however. They still don't spend the nights, but it's not as frequent and not as loud. The novelty and the rush of doing a forbidden thing have worn off, Lexa reasons. Now, they simply enjoy each other, and that's what makes it worse.

  
And she just can't stop. Not when Clarke has taken to wearing her hoodie around the house at night. Not when she throws her hair up in a bun, and all of Lexa's marks are on display, worn proudly and traced absentmindedly as Clarke browses through her phone. Not when she's paying rapid attention to how climate change affects the planet, as told by a charismatic host of a new documentary series Lexa's mildly obsessed with. Clarke almost turned Lexa down that night, and she's still not sure whether to feel insulted or proud.

 

She's also not sure how she feels about the fact that Clarke never makes the first move now. She's not trying to seduce her, either. The days of parading around the house in an open robe are over, it seems. Now, Clarke is simply... Clarke.

It's not like Lexa purposefully approaches her, really. It just kinda happens. She's drawn to her, invisible force at play, when they sit together, watch tv together, eat together. Clarke would be near her, and Lexa would lean in, leaving a tentative kiss on her neck, shoulder, lips, and they would go from there. Perhaps, the solution is to cut the time spent with the girl, but it's nearly physically impossible at this point.

 

Clarke wanted under her skin, and now she got there. And she's more confusing than ever.

 

Other than occasional sex, they begin to get along even better than before, and Lexa can't say she's too upset about it. It's nice, actually. Having someone to cautiously rely on in some things. It makes her feel light when she casually asks Clarke if she can drive her to and from her fencing tournament today. She knows she'll be too tired to do it by herself after it's over. And the light feeling in her chest grows when Clarke readily agrees. Casually. Without the added touch of unnecessary intimacy. Without the heavy promise of sex, and without the hinted demand for it, either.

 

She asks and Clarke agrees and encouragingly smiles, and it's - it's nice. It feels like having a friend, Lexa supposes. A weirdly functioning friendship. It's not like she can call whatever they have a sibling bond – that thought makes Lexa cringe and wish for a shower. Besides, she already got a sister out of her father's failed marriage once, and Anya wouldn't take being replaced lightly.

 

Lexa briefly wonders if Anya and Clarke would get along, should Anya choose to pop by, entirely unexpected and eagerly welcomed as usual. And, after her imagination draws a vivid picture of Anya's homecoming, she also briefly wonders if she'll manage to replace the furniture before father gets home from his trip. To Lexa, two loud, explosive blondes under one roof spells disaster. She should probably warn both of them about each other's existence. Maybe, if she's lucky, they won't ever meet. But, well. She's never been particularly lucky.

 

For now, though, her mind should be focusing on one thing only, if she wants to survive Indra after this.

 

//

 

Her chances of surviving Indra are well above ninety percent. True to herself, Lexa cautiously leaves ten percent just in case. One can never be too prepared.

 

The crowd cheers as she takes off her mask and places it under her weapon arm. Her opponent does the same, and next come the gloves so they can shake bare arms. The guy smiles at her as his hand finds hers.

 

“Nice bout,” he says, and clear respect in his voice makes Lexa's lips twitch.

 

“Thank you. You, too.”

 

He nods, accepting his loss with dignity only fencers possess. Well, as far as Lexa's concerned.

 

“I'm looking forward to meeting you next year,” the guy says then, and she simply nods back. He had great technique. Expected, really, since both of them are A-rated. She's just a little better, that's all. She'll still be a little better next year, too.

 

It's a bit of blur afterwards: ref shaking her hands, congratulations from her club mates and veterans, Indra's appreciative nod. And then Clarke. Clarke watching her from the stands, silent and unmoving as people around her talk and walk and clap.

 

 

Lexa locks her jaw and turns on her heels, heading for the exit. She doesn't need to glance at Clarke to know she's following her. When they reach the dark, long hallway, Lexa abruptly stops and turns, almost colliding with the other girl.

 

"Oh, I'm sor-"

 

Clarke's lips on hers make it hard to finish her thought. She stumbles back, blindingly searching behind herself for the wall and pressing against it. Well, more like being pressed against it. Clarke's mouth on hers is demanding and desperate at the same time. A combination she's never tasted before.

 

The blonde breaks the kiss. "Congratulations," she mutters.

 

Lexa blinks rapidly. "I'm... Thank you?"

 

Clarke simply nods and swiftly unzips her jacket, grabbing the lapels and roughly tugging her forward. Their lips crash, and Lexa's embarrassed to realize the long moan definitely comes from her. This is not how she envisioned this going, and yes, she'd be lying if she said she didn't think about this exact moment. Winning the tournament. Meeting Clarke's eyes, wide and hungry. Silently tugging her into the locker room and bending her over a bench. Two victories in one night.

 

Only now, Clarke's hands are urgently fondling her body and struggling with her uniform right in the unlit hallway, and Lexa is the prey.

 

She's not sure she's okay with it.

 

A low growl from Lexa's chest slows Clarke down, but only for a second. Lexa tearing her mouth away from hers, however, makes her pause.

 

"...Lexa, what..." She doesn't get to continue when Lexa switches their positions, slamming her into the wall and devouring her lips. Her message is clear for the both of them. Or so Lexa thinks.

 

Clarke laughs. "Right," she breathes. "Walls are your thing."

 

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up." There is no bite in her words, and Clarke grins. The mere sight of her lips stretched in a smile acts like a bucket of cold water for Lexa. She wanted to claim her. Wanted to drag her somewhere, anywhere, and mark her in the most primal of ways. This isn't... This isn't right.

 

She slumps against Clarke, suddenly deflated and light. Too many things happened at once. Too many things have been happening in her life since the beginning of school year.

 

Clarke's hands on her back are soothing and warm. "Hey," she whispers. "You okay?"

 

"Yes." No. Maybe. "Adrenaline rush and crash. It happens."

 

Clarke coos wistfully. "Oh. I was looking forward to the rush part."

 

"I noticed." Lexa smirks, not unkindly, as she lifts her head from the crook of Clarke's neck. Blue eyes meet hers, and they just stand there, breathing.

 

"It's not completely my fault," Clarke whispers. Her hands squeeze Lexa's biceps, still clothed in her fencing jacket. "Apparently, fencing uniforms get me hot."

 

Lexa can't resist. "Just uniforms?"

 

"It's a bonus if the girl wearing it is also a winner." She smirks. "A very, very hot winner."

 

Lexa releases a heavy breath. "Yeah. A very tired winner." She's been training for this day for a long time, but it's still exhausting. She can't help but think that maybe it has something to do with the girl in front of her.

 

But the girl in front of her smiles and takes a step back, bending down to grab the mask from the floor. Lexa didn't even notice how it got there.

 

"Right." Clarke says. "Let's go home."

 

Clarke's voice is quietly warm, but the word _home_ rings in Lexa's ears long after they leave.

 

//

 

She stops initiating sex, which means they stop having sex altogether. The fencing tournament – the _thing_ at the fencing tournament – was jarring for Lexa, and being intimate with Clarke doesn't feel comfortable. It never really did. Too many thoughts swarming around her brain at night, and day, and any waking hour. So, as Lexa tells herself, she finally finds the strength to stop. Yet, nothing changes. Lexa expected things to change, as much as she hates it when they do. But they don't.

 

Okay, some things do start to change. But it's not as drastic as she's prepared herself for. Doesn't mean it isn't as terrifying. Clarke is – she's not the girl Lexa thought her to be. Perhaps, it's due to the fact that Lexa never really thought her to be any kind of girl at all. Clarke just _was_. That's something that didn't change. Clarke still _is_. She's still very _present_ , and her presence is putting Lexa on edge most of the time, but for different reasons than before, and she doesn't know if it's for better or for worse. It really depends on a day. Lexa spent precious hours at night trying to put her finger on what is it that's different now. Intent? Maybe. She's not sure.

 

When they go a week without having sex, Clarke doesn't bring anyone over and she doesn't smash plates against the wall. Instead, she buys DVDs for her and Lexa to watch when Lexa's done with her homework, which doesn't happen very often. Lexa points that out when she eyes the stack, catching unfamiliar tv show names. Clarke shrugs.

 

“There's always winter break.” And they leave it at that.

 

They leave a lot of things 'at that', and, as friendly as Clarke has been lately, Lexa still feels this _coiling_ in her gut every time she sees the girl around. So, naturally, she tries to see less of her.

 

Unexpectedly, Clarke accommodates her. It's spooky all on its own, but Lexa tries not to give it much thought. Clarke _is,_ after all, a nice person. Not a somewhat nice person to some people, as Lexa thought in the beginning, preferring to focus on good things about people or not focus on them at all. Not just a semi-nice person, either. She's just nice. She's very good with social situations, too; a skill Lexa can't exactly claim she has. She senses Lexa needs space, and she gives it to her, and there is nothing extraordinary about it. Nothing to lose sleep over. Nothing to have elevated heart rate over, either.

 

Lexa's not too good at following her own advice, apparently.

 

Except, lately, there isn't much to accommodate. Lexa finds herself silently inviting her step sister to spend time with her. She finds herself accepting Clarke's verbal invitations, too. Their routine, once jostled by occasional sex, not only settles down – it grows roots, too.

 

More often than not, Clarke falls asleep while binge-watching a show. It's a stretch, though – calling what they do 'binge-watching'. Lexa stops after three episodes at most, not having time for more, and if Clarke isn't asleep, she either rolls her eyes or whines, but still goes along with it. When she does pass out on the couch, she doesn't have much say in the matter, anyway.

 

Clarke falls asleep and Lexa carries her to bed and those are the roots she's talking about. First time it happens, Lexa has a hard time deciphering who is more freaked out by it. She's quietly messing her breakfast up in the kitchen when Clarke drags herself into the room, eyes darting all over the place.

 

“Morning. Um.” Lexa hears her clear her throat. “How did I end up in my room?”

 

She shouldn't find Clarke's knack for asking obvious questions this sweet. “I carried you.”

 

“Oh.”

 

After that, Clarke no longer pretends to fight off the sleep when they spend school nights together. And, honestly, if it weren't for Clarke going out every weekend and coming back days later smelling like partying and bad decisions, Lexa would have been content with the way things were. Maybe. She's not sure. She's not sure of anything anymore, as overdramatic as that sounds.

 

They reach their own weird milestone on a seemingly typical Friday night. Lexa enters the house, her hands full of grocery bags, and Clarke is the first thing she sees. Clarke's smile is mischievous without being malicious, but Lexa has lived long enough with her to be wary. Fond. But wary.

 

“Hey,” she says cautiously, putting the bags on the counter.

 

“Hey,” Clarke replies. “I thought Sunday was grocery day.” Her smile falls just slightly when she looks at the bags apprehensively, and Lexa is even more confused.

 

“We eat more food now,” she simply replies. It's only a second later that it occurs to her that the wording could have been better. But Clarke doesn't take offense. Instead, she nods, in understanding.

 

It sends a confusing spark through Lexa's chest.

 

Clarke is still watching her when she goes to open the fridge, and she looks positively giddy. That only increases Lexa's worry. She's half afraid something will pop out of the fridge when she opens the door. But surely Clarke isn't this childish, is she? They are on relatively good terms now. Just sex, no hard feelings. Only the confusing ones that neither has time for.

 

Lexa's mind is whirling trying to figure Clarke out. She's not usually this on edge. But today has been an off day. She was late for school. Her practice was cut short. Grocery shop on a Friday is still something she's getting used to. And now, Clarke is here, dressed in sweatpants instead of her usual robe, and the way she's behaving is unsettling.

 

Something is itching at the back of her brain, and it's – it isn't fun. It's putting her on edge.

 

She takes a deep breath and opens the door with more confidence that she's actually feeling. And stops short, widening her eyes.

 

There are three packs of her favorite yogurt. Three packs means twelve cups. Which means two times more than she usually gets. Her hand trembles, and she curls it in a fist.

 

“I drove to a farmers' market,” Clarke states behind her, and there is no trace of earlier smile in her voice. “I, um – I saw it and remembered you always get them somewhere, but I've never seen it in stores and the guy said he knows you. And, um... You look like you always want more when you finish a cup, and I decided to get more, and... You hate it,” she finishes in a small voice.

 

“No,” Lexa reacts immediately, even though her fist tightens. “I don't hate it. Thank you, Clarke,” she says automatically.

 

And she doesn't hate it, not really. She never really hates anything, truth be told. It was very sweet of Clarke. Very sweet. But the longer Lexa looks in the fridge, the more unbearable the itching becomes.

 

In order for the yogurts to fit in, Clarke had to rearrange other items. Some of Lexa's food is now on shelves reserved for temporary step siblings. She put Lexa's sweet peas next to ham and stacked plastic boxes against each other with complete disregard to their size.

 

She shouldn't care. It's not a big deal. It was very sweet of her. It was a nice gesture.

 

But today is an off day. A straw breaks the metaphorical horse's back and everything.

 

She doesn't realize her other hand is trembling, too, until Clarke curls her fingers around it, gently prying it away from the door. She makes no move, and Clarke carefully turns her to face her, still displaying that cautious gentleness.

 

“I'm sorry, Lexa,” she says, quietly. Her confusion is clear, but she isn't asking what's wrong. Her next question makes Lexa blink. “Tell me how to fix this.”

 

“You did nothing wrong,” Lexa finds herself saying. It's true. Clarke didn't do anything wrong. No one has ever done anything wrong. It's Lexa's problem. They don't know better.

 

But Clarke's lips twitch in adoring amusement and her hand squeezes Lexa's tighter. “Tell me,” she repeats, and Lexa isn't sure if she's only talking about the yogurt. Her thumb smoothes over the back of her shaking hand. Blue eyes are wide and hopeful, and Lexa can't help it. She speaks.

 

“You moved the food,” she says. Her tone isn't accusatory or degrading. She simply states the fact. Clarke is silent, but her eyes are urging Lexa to go on, and she does. “The peas don't go there.”

 

Clarke doesn't ask for her reasoning. She simply nods and slowly lets go of her hand. Lexa expects her to back away and leave and never speak to her again. Instead, she opens the fridge door wider and looks over the contents critically. “Where are they supposed to go?” she asks, then, turning to look at Lexa, and her expression is void of irritation.

 

She swallows. “Top shelf,” she says.

 

“Oh.” Clarke grabs the jar and puts it on the top shelf, taking the yogurt down. “Where do I put this?” she looks over the fridge contents again. “Middle shelf? I think someone once told me dairy goes on middle shelf. Oh, man, the containers don't look right either, do they?” she rambles. “I was in a hurry and I just stacked them... Well, the way I stacked them,” she grins at Lexa, but Lexa's too astonished to grin back. Clarke looks back, frowning as realization crosses her face. “I got too many, didn't I? You won't go through it as fast and it'll go bad. Shit. I didn't think this through.”

 

Lexa watches as Clarke places the packs on the counter and rearranges the plastic containers, all the while shooting her easy smiles. It doesn't itch as much anymore.

 

“It's okay,” she finds herself saying. Clarke takes the pack and looks at the other two with furrowed brows, and Lexa suddenly wants nothing more than to see them smooth over. “I was thinking of increasing my intake.” Oh, God, who talks like that? But Clarke's smile lights her whole face up and Lexa doesn't care. She places the pack on the middle shelf and looks at Lexa. She's smiling, but her eyes are still nervous, just like the way she's biting her lower lip. But she did nothing wrong. Why is she nervous?

 

Lexa takes the remaining two packs and carefully stacks them on top of the first one. She then pushes it to the right side. Milk goes in the center. “You can always help me with it, if you want,” she suggests, turning her head so she can look at Clarke, and, oh. She didn't realize they'd be standing so close to each other. Her nose almost grazes the other girl's. Neither recoil. “With... With the yogurt, I mean,” Lexa clarifies quietly, watching as Clarke's lashes flutter.

 

“Right,” Clarke says, just as quiet. “I'm pretty sure my body will reject it, though.” She does have a point, but all that registers in Lexa's brain are the words 'my body' and her gaze automatically lowers to take Clarke in. When she reaches her face again, the girl is breathing just a tad faster than before. Lovely blush and heaving chest.

 

Lexa doesn't understand how it happens, but next thing she knows, Clarke is impossibly close and they are kissing and it feels like all the corny things she hates to read about. Clarke's hands fly up to find purchase against her shoulders, clutching her shirt like countless times before, with practiced familiarity. Her hands find Clarke's waist, pulling her flush against her chest, and Clarke moans at the sensation. She smells different, Lexa notes. Honey and lemons. But there's still a hint of something uniquely her, and she takes a deep breath, eager to savor the scent. It leads her to Clarke's neck, and she breaks the kiss, only to nuzzle at the place where her neck meets her shoulder, making the other girl whimper.

 

She doesn't understand at _all_ how she managed to survived these past few weeks without Clarke's lips against her own.

 

“Lexa,” Clarke breathes. The way her name falls from her step sister's lips makes Lexa growl, and she attacks her neck with renewed vigor. “Lexa, ah! God... Wait, wait.”

 

She stops immediately, staggering back and taking her hands off Clarke as if she's burned them.

 

“I said wait, not stop,” Clarke chuckles breathlessly, tugging her back by the collar and planting a short, but deep kiss on her that leaves Lexa gasping. “We should probably talk,” she says. Her hands smooth over the wrinkles she's left on Lexa's shirt.

 

Lexa blinks. It's startling to realize that after almost half a year of living and sleeping and then not sleeping together this is the first time any of them have brought up the fact that they really do need to talk. She isn't in the mood to talk, not really, but Clarke's right. They probably should. Last time they didn't, things happened that Lexa rather not live through again. They are still happening, crawling under her skin and itching at her brain.

 

She goes to step away, but Clarke's hold on her shoulders tightens, and she stays.

 

“So.” her step sister is nervous, she can tell. She can only guess what's going through her head. That's all she's been doing, Lexa realizes. Guessing and denying she was guessing. Not knowing what exactly was she hoping for when she did. “We... Um. What are we?”

 

To Lexa's credit, she really, really tried not to laugh. To her shame, she failed. She blames it on the nerves.

 

“Lexa!” Clarke huffs, hitting her shoulder. She looks like she's suppressing a smile of her own, having realized how she sounded. “Don't laugh at me.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Lexa offers, still smiling. “It's just – did you really just ask _what are we_?”

 

“It's a legitimate question.”

 

Kind of _the_ question, isn't it?

 

“I know. I'm sorry.” she studies Clarke's features. Her soft, concentrated frown and fluttering lashes. If Clarke is brave enough to admit her own thoughts through her previous question, so is Lexa. “I don't want you sleeping with other people.” Admitting it out loud is liberating. Watching Clarke's eyes soften and sparkle is even better, and her hold on the blonde's waist tightens.

 

She's not prepared to hear Clarke's own admission.

 

“I'm not... sleeping with other people,” the other girl says, quietly.

 

But she has been out more. “But you have been out more,” Lexa lamely says. “I mean, you haven't been spending the nights.”

 

She doesn't mean for it to sound accusatory, but Clarke still shrinks. “Raven,” she simply says. “We've been having sleepovers. Completely clothed, pg rated sleepovers. Well,” she scrunches her nose up in the way Lexa loves, and she has to resist the urge to lean down and kiss the wrinkles. “Some of Raven's stories are definitely rated higher and most of them are most likely illegal in several states, but...” She takes a deep breath then and looks Lexa straight in the eye again. “I never slept with her. I haven't been with anyone since Niylah. Well,” her lips twitch. “Only with you.”

 

“Oh,” Lexa says.

 

“Have you?”

 

“No.” the answer is immediate and sure. Clarke's relieved, grateful kiss tastes like mint and cherry. She breaks it first, slowly, her eyes still closed when Lexa looks at her. Then, they flutter open, the intensity of electric blue quite literally stealing Lexa's breath.

 

“If you had, I wouldn't have... I mean, I wouldn't be angry.” She says quietly. “Well,” a sharp chuckle falls from her lips. “I would be. _God_ , I would be. But that would be my problem to deal with.”

 

Lexa doesn't quite know why Clarke is telling her this, but she nods anyway. “Okay. But I haven't, so there is no problem.”

 

“Yeah.” Clarke swallows. Her mouth is tense, and Lexa knows it means she's nervous. Scared, even. She just doesn't know why. Or, maybe, she does and simply doesn't want to face it yet. “Lexa.” the girl's broken whisper makes her take a deep breath. “What are we doing?”

 

So many things they shouldn't be.

 

Lexa could try. She knows she could. Try to find the answer she already knows, try to shape it into words and gestures and heated kisses. But she isn't – she isn't ready, and it surprises her in its clarity, how not ready she is. She just can't give Clarke a definite answer right now. Her fingers on Clarke's waist tremble, and she gathers them in fists to stop them. And Clarke notices.

 

Clarke always notices things, and maybe that's one of the reasons Lexa's so terrifyingly not ready and so readily terrified.

 

Clarke notices, and doesn't voice whatever it is that's on her mind and in her eyes.

 

It's a long pause before Lexa whispers back. “Can we just... be?”

 

Clarke's fingers play with short hair at the nape of Lexa's neck. “Yes,” she says slowly. “I suppose we can.” It's not ideal. None of it. Perhaps, it's unfair to Clarke. Perhaps, it's unfair to both of them. But Lexa doesn't – she just needs time. Today has been too much.

 

Clarke's lips are tentative and unsure and resigned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agfdkshkjh there is no smut and i rewrote this precisely four times which means this au now has four possible directions but i'm only going with one. yell at me in the comment section or on my tumblr the link to which im too lazy to insert but it's in the end notes of the prev chapter i'll understand if you're too lazy to look for it tho


	5. all i can taste is this moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all mistakes are mine and there's probably a lot of them also this is mush im sorry

It's not quite limbo, but it's close. At least it feels this way to Lexa. Clarke is still easy smiles and twinkling eyes and laced fingers. It's new and exciting and scary and Lexa lets it run its course.

 

They don't have sex after the fridge incident, but they do sleep together, and it's far less smothering than Lexa imagined it to be. Completely by accident, too. It was raining and Lexa didn't feel like leaving her room. Clarke walked in and then simply didn't walk out. They started a new show on Lexa's laptop and her step sister passed out near the end of the third episode – Lexa's pretty sure she's conditioned her to do that, and she'll be lying if she said she didn't make a mental note to observe that more closely.

 

So, yeah. She glanced at Clarke to ask if she wanted to keep watching and found her fast asleep, gently snoring, her chest heaving up and down with her breaths. And Lexa could carry her to her bed, she really could – she's done it countless times before. But that day she didn't feel like it. She just wanted to stay in bed. And so she did. She quietly shut the laptop off and crawled under the blankets and helped Clarke get under the blankets, too, and she fell asleep listening to her step sister's breathing and the sound of heavy rain outside. She made sure to stay on her side of the bed, too.

 

When she woke up, Clarke was already gone, but there was a note with shakily written words about having to go to Raven's to solve some crisis and a promise of brunch. Lexa carries the note in her wallet and she doesn't want to get into her reasoning.

 

After that one night, they don't really have the time or the opportunity to actually wake up together – a prospect that has Lexa's stomach up in knots. Parents come back, and this time, it's for much longer. It's time to officially tie the knot. Days blur by, and between finals, rigorous training regiment, and wedding preparations, neither Lexa nor Clarke have much time for each other. She's not gonna lie: she doesn't necessarily consider it a bad thing. She needed that slight step back. Perhaps, Clarke did, too.

 

Except their gazes meet over cake decorations and fluffy dresses and the heated longing in Clarke's eyes ignites heavy ache somewhere deep in Lexa's belly.

 

“This one's pretty good,” Clarke whispers to her in a cake shop, and Lexa doesn't hesitate before wrapping her lips around Clarke's offered finger with vanilla frosting smeared on it. It is pretty good. She makes sure to let her know by releasing a low moan. Just as Clarke's eyes darken, Abby calls for them from the other side of the shop, and she lets go of her step sister's finger with a small pop.

 

It takes all of her will – all of _their_ will – not to drag each other into the dressing room next to Abby's. The whole day is torture, and once they get home, Clarke coaxes sharp, silent orgasms from Lexa in the guest bathroom. And Lexa really, really wishes for the wedding to be done and over with and for parents to finally depart so they have the house back to themselves.

 

It's been far too long since she's made Clarke scream, and as fun as it is to watch her struggle to keep quiet, she misses the way she sounds like when she falls apart.

 

Abby becomes Mrs. Woods during the first week of winter break. As far as weddings go, this one is nice. That's the word Lexa would use. It's small and classy and reasonably expensive. Still way too many people for her tastes. She's not particularly fond of father's business associates. But the wedding is cute. A winter one, just like Abby wanted. Beautiful décor and snow. Blue dresses for the daughters that make Clarke's eyes stand out and sparkle with unshed tears. Lexa's pretty much immune to weddings by now, but Clarke isn't. She's taking everything in and when her mother says her vows Lexa watches Clarke swallow painfully and smile through tears.

 

She accepts a handkerchief with a wry smile that becomes muted but gentle when she notices Lexa's concerned expression. “I'm fine,” she whispers, and her grip on Lexa's elbow tightens. “I'm okay.”

 

“You're okay,” Lexa repeats. Except she's not. Not really. She sees it in her tears, more bitter than sweet. In the trembling of her lashes. In the twist of her mouth. Clarke was supportive and downright giddy at times during preparations. Lexa guesses that today she decided to let go.

 

She loses Clarke among the mingling crowd just for a second, but it's enough for the girl to sneak away somewhere. Lexa's guess is the bathroom. She should probably leave her alone with her thoughts. Let her gather herself and her emotions.

 

But Clarke doesn't like being left alone with her thoughts, and Lexa doesn't like the thought of Clarke being alone right now.

 

Her step sister opens the bathroom door after a quiet 'it's me' from Lexa, and her makeup is smudged enough for her to know she was crying.

 

“You're not okay,” Lexa observes.

 

Clarke snorts. “You think?” She sighs, then, taking Lexa's hand and guiding her to sit next to her. Lexa kicks the door closed behind them, as an afterthought, and it shuts with a soft click. “I'm sorry. I'm just... on edge, I guess.”

 

“You don't have to apologize,” Lexa points out. The sparkle in Clarke's eyes at her words is confusing, but not unwelcome. She plays with Clarke's fingers for a little while, gently brushing her thumb over them. The gesture is calming to her, and so she does it again. “I... May I ask you a personal question?”

 

Her step sister grins. It's hollow. “Baby, after last night, you can get as personal as you want.” Her attempt at deflecting is hollow, too. But Lexa is given an okay so she goes with it.

 

“Is this because of your father?” It may have been too blunt, Lexa thinks. Clarke apparently thinks so, too. Her hand jerks in Lexa's hold, and she hastily lets go, afraid of having overstepped something. Something fragile. Perhaps she should've thought about it before voicing her question.

 

Has she already mentioned always questioning her decision-making around Clarke?

 

It's several agonizingly silent seconds before Clarke replies. “I don't know.” Lexa snaps her head up, surprised at hearing her speak. She was contemplating leaving the bathroom, quietly, perhaps with a mumbled apology and downcast gaze. But Clarke is speaking to her again. “Well, no. That's a lie. Of course it's about him. She's moving on, and I can't stop her. I have no right to stop her. I thought I was okay with it, you know? With everything and with how happy she seemed lately and with you...” Clarke trails off, suddenly unsure, but Lexa keeps looking at her, and she seems to find something in her eyes that urges her to go on. “I mean, with us.” Her voice is stronger. Lexa smiles, and Clarke's fingers are hers again to trace and caress. “But... This isn't fair. This isn't fair to him. Right? Being-” Clarke stops, abruptly, and takes a sharp breath, and suddenly Lexa gets it.

 

Being happy isn't fair when someone you want to share that happiness with is dead.

 

She's tentative as she gathers Clarke in her arms, feeling her shoulders gently shake with silent sobs. “I don't remember my mother,” she whispers into Clarke's hair. Inhales her scent, then. Presses what she hopes to be a soothing kiss to the top of her head. Clarke's fingers tighten their hold on her dress, and she thinks that wrinkles are inevitable. She doesn't care. “I think she was nice. I know father was in a bad place when she died.” Clarke shifts in her arms, and she smiles when she feels a tiny kiss pressed against her collarbone. “I look like her. Kinda. I think. We don't have pictures but someone once told me that.”

 

“I look like my dad,” Clarke lets her know in a whisper, drawing small, unsure circles on her thigh. “How come you don't have pictures?”

 

Lexa shrugs. “Maybe father does. I've never really asked him.” It's a bizarre feeling – sharing their scars in a guest bathroom at a small bed&breakfast. Bizarre, but not a bad one. “Maybe I should. I'm sorry,” she offers next, scooting back so she can look Clarke in the eye. “I'm bad at this. Emotions aren't really my thing. I don't handle them well. What I'm about to say will probably sound insensitive, and I'm sorry in advance.” That gets a small chuckle from Clarke. “I don't know how you feel, Clarke. But I think being happy is not a bad thing. It isn't something to feel guilty about. Your mom found happiness again, and you're happy for her. You don't have to constantly mourn for your father. It isn't disrespectful to his memory to feel good. It just makes you...” Lexa trails off, thinking of a word, and then shrugs. “Human. Alive. You deserve that.” the last part is probably unnecessary, but Clarke's eyes are sparkling again, and suddenly Lexa doesn't care how pretentious she sounds.

 

“I don't deserve a lot of things, but I'm too selfish to let them go,” Clarke whispers, and, before Lexa has a chance to ask for clarification, she leans in, brushing her lips against Lexa's. It tastes like champagne. And like a thank you. Lexa gladly takes it.

 

They make it back to the party around half an hour later, when Clarke fixes her makeup and Lexa gathers enough courage to be around this many people again. Clarke's hand brushes against hers throughout the evening, and father's colleagues don't seem as revolting anymore.

 

//

 

Lexa doesn't usually like being too hot. Or too cold. She doesn't like extreme temperatures, period. But right now, grinding on Clarke's lap, with her fingers pressed against her still clothed center, she doesn't mind at all that her skin is on fire. Clarke's the perfect exception.

 

She can't hold back a moan when her step sister laps at her neck, and she doesn't have to. Abby and her father are gone to some exhibition Lexa doesn't care to know the name of, and they won't be back until much later.

 

“Clarke,” she pants into golden hair. Something is brewing in the pit of her stomach, making her throb almost painfully. They are still wearing their clothes, and she already feels on the brink. She thinks it's because they had to sneak around for almost a month. As hot as that is, unabashedly enjoying each other is much better. Besides, there is just something about the couch in the living room. It's spacious and luxurious and perfect for having loud, shameless sex.

 

Although, if Clarke keeps doing what she's doing – devouring Lexa's neck and lips and skillfully palming her between her legs – Lexa's not sure she'll last till the actual sex part.

 

“God, this feels good,” she mumbles, rolling her hips into Clarke's hand. It's almost not enough. She wants her inside. Needs to feel the stretch of her fingers. But at the same time, this feels perfect. The way Clarke is holding her around her waist and gazes up at her with that something they haven't named yet in her eyes – Lexa's more than okay with staying this way for as long as they can.

Or for as long as she lasts.

 

They never get the chance to find out, however, because the front door creaks open and next thing Lexa knows is pain. In her sudden panic, Clarke pushes her off her lap, and Lexa crashes into a wooden coffee table headfirst. It's a fine piece of woodwork, all heavy and sharp angles. Lexa hears a sickening crunch before she feels it, and it looks just as dramatic as it sounds, if Clarke's wide terrified eyes are any indication.

 

The back of her head is sticky and on fire.

 

“Lexa!” Clarke's shouting and Abby's shouting at her to stop shouting. It's a cacophony and suddenly Lexa's too tired to keep up with it. With anything. The pain is sharp and throbbing and she wants it to stop. If she just closes her eyes fro a second. Just to rest for a little while.  
  
“Lexa, I need you to stay awake.” Abby's face swims into focus, concentrated and serious. It morphs and twists. Her features keep changing. Blue eyes to green and fuller lips. Lexa blinks. “Try not to close your eyes, honey. Charles,” she addresses Lexa's father urgently. She's swiftly checking Lexa's ears as she speaks. “Oh, they're on their way? Good. It's a lot of blood. Sweetie,” her eyes are big and green again. “Can you hear me?”

 

She can. She's not sure she can answer. Her tongue feels funny, and everything is swimming.

 

Where is Clarke?

 

She blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, she's not in her living room anymore. It's not her house at all. The walls are white and the sheets are scratchy and there is an IV in her arm. Things are slowly coming back to her. Clarke, parents, pain. Her mouth feels like cotton. Her head feels this way, too. She blinks a couple of times, trying to focus her eyes.

 

Pain is reduced to a dull sting. She turns her head to her left and is mildly surprised to find Clarke there, fast asleep in a chair next to her. Lexa winces at the position her neck is in. That'll hurt when she wakes up, no doubt. She's torn between waking her up and letting her sleep a little longer, but in the end, her concern for Clarke's neck muscles and her own need for some water win.

 

“Clarke,” she croaks out, and the girl jolts awake, looking around in confusion before her gaze falls on Lexa and she gasps.

 

“Hey, hey,” Clarke's hand is a little cold, but it's pleasant against Lexa's warm skin. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?” Blue eyes can't seem to find one place to land on. They travel all over Lexa's face and body, looking for possible cause of distress. “Are you in any pain?”

 

Lexa wants to tell her she's feeling fine. That pain is barely noticeable and the only discomfort she's experiencing is due to waking up somewhere other than her house, wearing something other than her clothes. But first things first. “Could you get me water?” she practically pleads. Her throat feels like sandpaper.

 

 

Clarke nods, winces at what Lexa's sure is an inevitable cramp in her neck, and grabs a bottle from a small table next to her chair, pouring some in a plastic cup. “Do you think you can... I mean, should I...” Clarke gestures at the cup, and Lexa blinks before realizing what she's suggesting.

 

“Oh. No, I can drink by myself.” She gratefully accepts the cup, struggling to pace herself as she gulps the water down. It tastes heavenly. She's pretty sure it's actually mediocre, but right now, it's the best water she's ever had. Clarke has to refill the cup several times before Lexa finally puts it down with a satisfied sigh. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. Her voice is no longer that of an avid cigar smoker, but Lexa clears her throat just in case. “Am I gonna die?”

 

Clarke's wide eyes and a quivering lip quickly alert her that it was not as funny as she thought it would be. “I'm kidding,” she hurries to explain. “Just kidding. What happened to me?”

 

Her step sister takes a shaky breath, relaxing in her chair. Their hands find each other, and Lexa squeezes Clarke's fingers once, trying to reassure her. “You split your head open. There was blood.” Clarke's voice trembles at the last word, but she swallows and continues. “You lost consciousness and we were really worried. An ambulance came very quickly, thank God. They...” she takes another deep breath, and Lexa's hold on her hand tightens. “They didn't let me ride with you. Your father drove us to the hospital. Oh, they had to shave some of your hair, around the wound, you needed stitches.” Lexa nods. Makes sense. “And you wouldn't wake up. They said it was okay but I just wanted to make sure.”

 

Clarke's recollection of the events is a bit jumbled and shaky, much like the girl herself, and Lexa feels a surge of sympathy in her chest. She doesn't know how she would have reacted if something like that happened to Clarke.

 

“Well, I feel okay,” she lets Clarke know. “How long have I been out?”

 

The girl frowns, thoughtful. “Several hours. You have a mild concussion. You'll probably be on bedrest when we get home.”

 

Lexa raises her eyebrows. “Are those doctor's orders or yours?” she asks. But Clarke's still too shaken up to respond to her teasing flirting.

 

 _I'm scared,_ she reads in blue eyes. _You scared me._

 

 _I'm here,_ she tries to let her know, brushing her fingers across her knuckles. _I'm okay._

 

Clarke lets out a heavy breath and, when her shoulders slump with stressed relief, Lexa knows she succeeded.

 

“You wanna climb in?” she asks quietly. Clarke simply nods, and she scoots over, lifting the cheap hospital blanket for her. They both heave a sigh when Clarke stretches beside Lexa, carefully placing her head on her shoulder.

 

“This okay?” she asks Lexa in a low voice that sends shivers down her spine. She remembers, quite vividly, the events that lead up to her unfortunate fall, and her body responds immediately.

 

“Yes,” she whispers back. More than okay. Clarke's gaze finds hers, and she's surprised to find it gets easier to breathe when she sees fear fade from blue eyes.

 

She thanks whoever it is up there – and her minor head injury – for her being too slow at capturing Clarke's lips with her own, because Abby and her father chose this exact moment to walk in. Lexa sits up a little straighter when she hears their footsteps. Clarke is already halfway out of her bed, her eyes scared for a whole other reason.

 

Adults don't seem to notice anything, however. “Clarke, you shouldn't smother her like that,” Abby scolds her daughter. “Lexa's been seriously hurt.”

 

“Oh, dear, she was just comforting her big sister,” Lexa's father chuckles good-naturedly. Both girls struggle not to cringe. “It's okay. Right, Lex?”

 

Right.

 

“How are feeling, honey?” Abby places a comforting hand on her shoulder and quickly touches her forehead. “Does anything hurt?” Sometimes, Lexa forgets just how alike the Griffin women can be.

 

She clears her throat, glancing at Clarke and then back at Abby. “I'm alright. When can I go home?”

 

“You'll have to spend the night, I'm afraid,” Abby says apologetically. “Tomorrow morning we'll come get you.”

 

“It's gonna be okay, Lexa,” her father chips in. It's slightly unnecessary, Lexa thinks. But then, he lays a hesitant hand on her other shoulder and tentatively squeezes, and – she can't claim she gets him, but she gets him in this exact moment. It can't be too fun watching your daughter bleed out on the floor.

 

She lifts her gaze to meet Clarke's again, over Abby's shoulder. Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's enough for now. _'You're okay,'_ Clarke mouths at her, and she nods.

 

 _As long as you are,_ she's surprised to think.

 

Clarke's the last to leave her room, with a lingering kiss pressed to Lexa's cheek. Lexa thinks if she turns her head just slightly, just right, brushing her nose against Clarke's skin, their lips will meet. But Abby and her father are standing in the doorway, waiting for Clarke, and so she doesn't do that. Instead, she squeezes Clarke's hand and tells her she'll see her in the morning.

 

The look Abby gives her when they depart is confusing, but she chalks it up to a stressful day and her own exhaustion.

 

//

 

The parents decide to stay for longer. Just until Lexa is off her bedrest, Abby tells them at dinner. The news is disappointing, and Lexa grumbles about it as soon as Clarke and her reach her room. Turns out, Clarke has more disappointing news for her.

 

“We are not having sex regardless of them being here,” she announces defiantly when she closes the door behind them and helps Lexa get into bed. It's completely unnecessary, and Lexa lets her know as much, but Clarke ignores her. “You have a head injury. No physical exercises allowed. Sex included.”

 

Lexa's never felt more offended in her entire life.

 

At least it's winter break. They have exactly two weeks of doing nothing ahead and many tv shows to catch up on, as Clarke enthusiastically reminds her. Lexa doesn't really care what's happening on her laptop screen, as long as Clarke's warm and solid next to her.

 

The whole 'no sex' thing still sucks. Clarke also banned anything heavier than small pecks that barely count as kisses because apparently 'Lexa can't be trusted with her hands'. Lexa thinks that on the contrary, her hands are very trustworthy. She lasts exactly three days without touching Clarke, and it's pure torture: constantly having her near and not doing anything about it. So, on the fourth day of her house arrest, she cracks.

 

She's back in bed after completing her slightly altered morning routine when Clarke walks in with a bowl of chicken soup.

 

“I have a hole in my head,” Lexa points out. “Not a cold.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Drama queen,” she mutters. Lexa waits till Clarke places the bowl on her nightstand, and then revels in her surprised yelp as she tackles her to bed.

 

“Lexa,” Clarke gasps and god, she missed this girl so much. “Wait-”

 

Lexa's lips on hers interrupt whatever it is that she wants to say. Both of them sigh at the contact, and Clarke's small needy noise at having Lexa's tongue touch hers makes Lexa throb with want. Clarke wraps her legs around Lexa's waist on instinct, and she grinds down, letting out a hungry moan. God, it's been too long. Too long without feeling Clarke like this. Lexa can't stop herself from touching Clarke all over: legs, thighs, chest. Her tongue caresses the roof of Clarke's mouth, coaxing a sharp gasp from the girl, and her nails scratch down her sides, making her arch.

 

“Lex,” Clarke whispers when she tears her mouth away, only to attach it to her neck. “We... we can't, stop.”

 

Lexa stills immediately, lifting her head. Clarke is a sight to behold, for sure. A flushed, flustered sight. But her expression is stern and Lexa inwardly shrinks.

 

“Lexa.” One scolding finger shoots up, pointing at her face. “What did I tell you? No sex.”

 

“But it's been three days already,” Lexa's well aware she's whining and she doesn't care.

 

Clarke huffs. “Three days is nothing! You have a fucking hole in your head – we can't have sex while you're on bedrest, which is another-”

 

“-week and a half,” Lexa finishes for her, eyes wide. “Clarke, that's way too long,” she finishes pitifully. When did she become a sex-crazed maniac?

 

The answer is lying under her and is very unamused. “We can't risk it. Don't be an idiot.”

 

"I’m not an idiot," Lexa replies. "I’m valedictorian."

 

Clarke doesn’t scoff at her. Instead, she watches her, and the soft smile on her face has Lexa gasping for breath. "Yeah," she whispers, tucking a lock of chestnut hair behind Lexa’s ear. "I know." Just like that, Lexa has to kiss her again. She takes her time, thoroughly exploring her mouth and nibbling at her lips. When they come up for air, Clarke is dazed.

 

“This is so unfair,” she gasps. Lexa hums and leans down to kiss her neck, carefully nipping and smoothing the bites with her tongue.

 

“Let's make it fair, then.”

 

“We can't, Lexa.” Clarke doesn't sound as convincing now. Perhaps, she senses the shift in Lexa's demeanor. There's no urgency anymore. Just the soft hum of want.

 

“ _I_ can't. Doesn't mean _you_ can't.” She climbs off Clarke, keeping her hand on her lower stomach, right above the waistband of her shorts. Another long, lazy kiss, and Lexa break it first, gazing at her with a silent question. Clarke hesitates. Then, she gives her a small nod.

 

Lexa kisses her again as she slips her fingers under Clarke's shorts, and she can't suppress an awed gasp. Clarke is so wonderfully wet. Drenched, more like it. She slips her fingers through her wetness, rolling her clit between her fingers. Clarke whimpers, and the sound has Lexa shuddering. It's soft and vulnerable, and the way Clarke looks at her, eyes wide open and trusting, makes her heart clench.

 

She gently kisses her lips as she slowly enters her with one finger, and Clarke gasps, clutching her t-shirt in a fist. It's hot under the blanket, almost too hot, but Lexa likes it. Likes the way Clarke feels against her, warm and soft. Likes the way she throbs around her, all molten heat. Lexa briefly sulks that she's not allowed to taste her for another two weeks. She'll lick her fingers clean after they're done, yes, but it won't be the same as drinking her in straight from the source. It's only been several days, and she's already feeling the withdrawals - there's no other word to describe this.

 

When did she become so addicted to this girl?

 

She notes the way Clarke's eyes widen even more as she hits the spot just right, and barely manages to press her lips to the blonde's before the girl lets out a moan. She's swallowed most of it, but it still goes through, and the muffled sound sends shivers down her spine.

 

As always, Clarke sounds incredible, even when she barely makes any sound at all.

 

The angle is a little awkward, even with Clarke's leg wrapped around her hip, and it makes her wrist ache, so she pulls out of her cunt, chuckling at Clarke's mewl of disapproval. It quickly becomes a needy gasp when Lexa focuses all of her attention on her clit, firmly rubbing circles into it just the way Clarke likes it. Soon, Clarke's hips are rolling and bucking against Lexa's hand as she breathes into her lips. It's the quietest they've ever been, Lexa thinks. Just Clarke looking at her, desperate to come. Just Lexa holding her, desperate for this moment to never end.

 

Clarke freezes, and Lexa's there to catch her as she falls over the edge, sighing and gasping her name. She firmly presses on her clit as it pulses, knowing it'll prolong Clarke's orgasm, and, as soon as Clarke's hips slow down, she quickly enters her and gives a couple of fast thrusts. She's quick to silence Clarke with her own mouth as she moans through another orgasm, this time a longer one.

 

When Clarke's throbbing around her fingers isn't as wild, Lexa slowly breaks their kiss, looking at her. “Fuck,” Clarke whispers, still catching her breath. “You're incredible, you know that?” Lexa shrugs. She does know that. By some miracle, she is rather talented in bed. But with Clarke, she doesn't think it's about her skill. It's about Clarke herself, the way she responds to her, the way she knows and feels her own body. She's pretty sure she never made any other girl she's slept with feel this good. Or, at the very least, no one showed it quite the way Clarke does.

 

“Your soup is probably cold,” Clarke says sleepily, burrowing herself into Lexa's arms. She chuckles as she welcomes the intrusion, guiding her head to her chest.

 

“I don't care,” she replies. “I don't have a cold, anyway.” She feels Clarke nod against her shoulder and tightens her hold on her.

 

Clarke falls asleep on Lexa's chest as she puts a documentary on and absentmindedly traces circles on her leg. She doesn't feel smothered at all.

 

//

 

Right near the end of her prison sentence Clarke permits Lexa to leave her cell and go downstairs. She also doesn't look too amused with her analogies, but Lexa doesn't have it in her to care. She's finally outside her room. Walking down the stairs never felt like an adventure before.

 

Lexa's in the middle of rediscovering her own house when Clarke suggests they watch a movie, with a barely hidden eye roll. Lexa still catches her fondness, so she isn't bothered by it in the slightest.

 

“May I make popcorn?” she feels the need to clarify, just in case.

 

“Only if I get to help.” Lexa doesn't exactly have a choice. If she did, she would have let Clarke help her anyway. She knows that.

 

There are a lot of things she knows, and she's not sure she wants to keep that knowledge to herself anymore.

 

“Okay,” Clarke says when their batch is ready. She's got a smudge of caramel on her cheek. Lexa has no idea how she managed to do that. Her step sister is an enigma sometimes, so she simply shrugs and silently wipes it off for her. Clarke gives her a quick smile. “Any movie suggestions? But nothing that will make me cry, please.”

 

“Then we shouldn't watch anything at all,” Lexa can't resist. She earns a half-hearted punch for that and pouts, rubbing her shoulder. “Fine. Zootopia?”

 

“I said nothing that will make me cry, Lexa.” Clarke looks like she's about to suggest something, but Lexa beats her to it.

 

“No horror movies, either, Clarke.”

 

“Well. Bummer.” they settle on something Marvel-related in the end. Lexa doesn't much care for the movies, but they are entertaining enough and take her mind off things. It's also really cute watching Clarke watch them. She's so invested. She's still surprised her step sister is Team Cap. She herself is Team Quality Plot, but oh well.

 

Clarke gets cold halfway through the second explosion scene, and she's too engrossed in the movie to protest against Lexa going upstairs to fetch her a blanket. So she does just that and comes back to an attempt at a deep profound conversation happening on screen and to Clarke rapidly watching said attempt. She simply shakes her head and settles back next to Clarke, watching as she hastily tugs her hoodie on and leaves a distracted peck on Lexa's cheek. “Thanks, Lex,” she mumbles, snaking her arms around her waist and snugly molding into her. “Love you.”

 

Lexa's heart stops and then restarts, beating twice as fast.

 

The admission doesn't feel like a slip of tongue. Doesn't feel like a dismissal, either. Instead, it's natural. Expected, somehow. Not the situation, maybe; Lexa thought they'd scream the words at each other, either in anger or in passion, but this – this is better. This is real.

 

This is perfect.

 

Her answer isn't laced with heaviness when she brushes her nose against the side of Clarke's head, breathing her in.

 

“Love you, too.” She's almost sure Clarke didn't hear her when she feels gentle lips pressing against her skin. Right above her heart. 

 

Their arms tighten around each other during Steve Rogers's passionate pep talk, and Lexa thinks it can't get any better than this. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	6. crumbling down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suck at keeping to the schedule rip

Another week passes, and even though Clarke is clearly having trouble agreeing, she relents and lets her go back to her training routine. "But no heavy lifting," she says, pointing a finger at Lexa's startled face. "You have a head trauma."

 

"I just have a small cut, Clarke," Lexa corrects her. It's already mostly healed. She's got a funny fuzzy patch of hair around the wound. She touched it once, and it felt weird. "My training also doesn't have much weightlifting. It's easy to exclude."

 

Clarke nods, satisfied. "Good. I will also supervise you. Just in case." As soon as she says it, Lexa immediately knows it's a bad idea. Well, not 'bad' per se, really. Not 'bad' as in 'bad for their relationship.' Certainly bad for her training, though.

 

(Is this a _relationship_?)

 

Lexa's suspicions are proven to be right this same evening, and she briefly laments her wasted workout before kissing a breathless Clarke again. On the other hand, Clarke is certainly a form of workout. And more enjoyable than pretty much everything in her basement-turned-home gym where they currently are, with Clarke pressing her into the mat and squirming at gentle kisses Lexa's raining down her neck. Looks like the ban on sex has finally been lifted, and Lexa is certainly not complaining.

 

She wonders if Clarke's aware just how much Lexa misses this. Needs this. Needs her.

 

"God, Lexa..."

 

"Just Lexa."

 

"How original."

 

"It's hard to be original with you on top of me." If it were any other day, Clarke would have scoffed. Maybe ground down on Lexa harder to make her squirm. But, as Clarke likes to remind her, she's got a head injury and Clarke would make an absolutely insufferable doctor one day. if she decides in favor of med school, that is. They haven't decided yet.

 

( _They_?)

 

So, as soon as Lexa's words leave her mouth, Clarke immediately rolls off, her expression one of concern. "Was I smothering you?" it's evident that Clarke only heard 'hard' and 'you on top of me' and jumped to less gross conclusions than she usually would have.

 

Lexa groans, plopping onto the mat. Clarke is sweet and lovable, but this is becoming too much. Okay, that's a lie. She likes it. The constant doting that Clarke has been doing. But right now that's not what she has in mind. "Clarke," she starts, propping herself up on her elbows. "How did you even come to this conclusion?" And, really. She can bench press her own weight, and Clarke has to be at least ten percent lighter than her. Maybe even more. She should let her know about that. And about being able to bench press her own weight. "I lift you all the time."

 

Clarke smiles briefly before sobering up. "But you're not injured all the time." And there it is. Something that Lexa expected to happen as soon as her health wasn't in immediate danger. Blue eyes flash with barely concealed guilt, and she sighs, grasping Clarke's hand with her own. It's so soft compared to hers. And little, too. She brushes her thumb over Clarke's knuckles, and the girl lets out a sigh.

 

“Clarke.” She smiles her 'barely-there' smile, and blue eyes soften. “I'm fine. It's been a little over two weeks.”

 

Lexa thinks she's succeeded, just for a moment. But Clarke is nothing if not stubborn. Her gaze falls, and she stands, brushing herself off. “Still. I shouldn't have jumped you like that.”

This conversation is long overdue, and Lexa mentally kicks herself for not starting it sooner. “Clarke.” She follows her step sister, rising to her feet as well. She's sweaty and feels a little gross, but this is important. “I'm fine.” She takes her hand again, and Clarke doesn't try to shake her off. She watches as Clarke's fingers run over the boxing wraps she's still wearing. She smirks a little as she remembers Clarke's breathless 'leave them on' before kissing her.

 

Her step sister shifts on her feet, and she blinks. Right. Important conversation.

 

Lexa sucks at small talk and gentle approach, so she opens with what she has. “I know you think it's your fault.” Clarke's hand in hers twitches, but stays put, and she squeezes it once. “But it's not. It was an accident.” It's a little funny, Lexa thinks – the fact that they are discussing what happened two weeks after it happened, but timing has never been their strong suit, she supposes. Besides, Clarke was too busy making sure Lexa didn't die,and Lexa was too busy assuring Clarke she was not in any critical condition.

 

Clarke sighs, and Lexa knows she's not convinced. “Right.” she says.

 

“No, Clarke, don't _right_ me,” she squeezes her hand again, and Clarke squeezes back, and she's suddenly taken back to the bathroom they hid out in at the parents' wedding. It's not often that Clarke needs reassurance from her, Lexa thinks. “It was an accident. They happen. I'm fine now, everything's okay.” She knows it won't stop Clarke from feeling responsible, at least not right away. Things like that take time. She's willing to reassure Clarke whenever she needs her to.

 

She's not too sure, but she thinks she feels Clarke smile against her shoulder when she hugs her. It feels nice. Hugging Clarke. Feeling her in her arms, pliant and warm. She squeezes her before taking a step back, giving her a small smile and getting one in return. Clarke's not entirely free of misplaced guilt, but it's a start. A late one, Lexa thinks self-deprecatingly, but a start nonetheless.

 

She's focused on taking her boxing wraps off and so she's not entirely prepared for a soft kiss Clarke gives her, but she gladly accepts it. She thinks that if they haven't been forced to abstain from sex for so long, it would have stayed what it was intended to be. Just a small, grateful kiss. But she's missing Clarke like crazy, and the feeling is clearly mutual, so it almost grows into something more. Something that usually results in them panting against each other, spent and delirious with pleasure. Something that Lexa finds herself _craving_ somewhere deep in her stomach. She tugs at Clarke, pressing into her and swallowing her gasps, and their tongues find each other and-

 

A sudden knock on the basement door startles them, and they jump away from each other, breathing ragged and eyes wide.

 

“Girls, dinner's ready!” Abby's voice floats through the heavy oak door, loud and chipper. Lexa has always liked Abby's respect for personal boundaries, but lately, she's been grateful about it for a whole other reason. If Mrs Griffin-Woods had a tendency to barge in, she would not have liked the things Lexa was doing to her daughter.

 

She watches Clarke watch her, chest still heaving with breath. Watches her bite her lower lip in frustrated longing, and yeah she's spending the night in her room today. It's been way too long.

 

Another knock. Dinner. Right.

 

Crap. She still needs to grab a quick shower.

 

//

 

Dinner is surprisingly smooth. They don't talk much, all focused on eating and their own thoughts. The parents are oddly silent, and Lexa briefly wonders if the falling out has already began. Not that she really cares, however awful it might sound. If anything, Clarke and her will be okay with it. They won't share the roof, but they'll be able to be together properly.

 

(Are they together now?)

 

Clarke's giving her glances and she's giving them right back. They're charged, but they lack heated urgency like ones they used to exchange before becoming _them._ Before the confession they haven't talked about yet. Neither brings it up and neither repeats it. But Lexa has a feeling that tonight they will. She certainly will.

 

She lifts her eyes from her plate and Clarke's blue ones are there, waiting for her. They lock gazes, and it's almost physically painful to be seated across from her, not being able to touch her, to smell her. Lexa shudders to think of the next year when she leaves for college. When Clarke and her will be separated for a whole damn year.

 

Her desperation must reflect in her eyes, because Clarke frowns prettily, and her hand reaches for hers automatically before she jerks it back.

 

“Clarke?” Of course, Abby chooses this exact moment to be attentive to her daughter. “Are you okay, honey?”

 

Lexa watches Clarke swallow. “Actually, I don't feel very good,” her step sister says lowly. “I think I'm gonna go lie down.”

 

“I'll see you to your room,” Lexa pipes up immediately. Perhaps, too immediately. Abby's eyes are on her, and there's that unreadable flash of something in them again. Just like in the hospital room. Lexa blinks, and something is itching at the back of her head, but Clarke's at her side, discreetly tugging on her arm, and she has no choice but to drop it.

 

“Okay... Call us if you need anything, girls,” Abby says. Her eyes are slightly narrowed in confusion as she looks between them. “I have to say, I'm very glad to see you finally getting along so well. You might think we are blind,” she chuckles, reaching for her husband's hand. Lexa swallows as she watches him take it with a smile. “But we are far from it, and we noticed there was a lot of tension between you two. We're glad you worked on that.”

 

Right.

 

“Yes,” Lexa says, brushing her thumb over the back of Clarke's hand before dropping it. “We're glad, too.”

 

//

 

She's pressed against the door as soon as Clarke closes it behind them, and it's exactly what she expected when she followed Clarke upstairs.

 

“Clarke,” she tries, softly but firmly grabbing the girl's wandering hands. “They are still up.”

 

Her step sister gives her an odd look. “Never stopped us before,” she grins before surging forward and capturing Lexa's lips again. Lexa kisses back for a long, delicious moment, tasting food and Clarke. It's a surprisingly arousing combination. But then, Clarke gets bold with her hands again and she gently pushes her away, smiling.

 

“Clarke. Not now.”

 

The girl huffs but relents, taking a step back. “I _can_ be quiet,” she grumbles, sitting down on her bed. The lights in her room are turned off, so Lexa sees more of a silhouette than actual Clarke. Her eyes will adjust soon. For now, she sits next to her, finding her hand with her own. She really likes holding her hand.

 

“I know,” she simply replies to Clarke. And she does know Clarke can keep quiet if need be, but it's not about that. She's not sure what this is about. Or maybe she is and she doesn't want to admit it.

 

It's just... It hit her today, during her quick shower before dinner, and she can't believe she didn't realize it sooner. Tonight is the first night they'll have sex after the confession. So, technically that counts as _making love_ , doesn't it? Those two words send shivers down Lexa's spine whenever she thinks of them, and she's been thinking about it nonstop for the last hour or so. And just imagining saying an 'I love you' to Clarke while she's inside her causes Lexa's stomach to flip and flutter. Rather violently, too.

 

She just wants tonight to be perfect. She's been contemplating waiting and getting a room at a nice hotel so they wouldn't have to be quiet, but it felt a little cheap. They should make love in their house. Where it all started. There is something poetic about that, Lexa supposes. And also now that Clarke has wordlessly let her know she's okay with them having sex again, she doubts she'll be able to wait.

 

She really shouldn't have let Clarke watch her workout. Or it's the best decision she's ever made. She's still on the fence with that one. There's one thing she's absolutely certain about: she's glad Abby interrupted them before they got carried away. It may be dumb and cliché, but Lexa doesn't want their first lovemaking to be on a dirty gym mat. Clarke probably doesn't want that, either. Clarke deserves a hell of a lot more than that.

 

(Sometimes it scares Lexa – just how much she wants to give Clarke, knowing she might not be able to.)

 

So they definitely need to wait till the parents are deeply asleep and will not disturb them. But how does she explain it all to Clarke without sounding like a lunatic?

 

How many people plan their lovemaking to a dot? Do people do that at all? Should she have done it? She feels like she should have.

 

Lexa settles for truth. But for a different one. “I don't want to risk it,” she says, scooting closer to Clarke and smiling when she nuzzles into her neck. “I think your mom is starting to pick up on some things.”

 

Clarke is silent and still for a long moment, and Lexa starts wondering if she fell asleep when she finally speaks up. “She is,” the blonde whispers. “I noticed that too. Do you think she thinks we are...”

 

“I don't know,” Lexa replies truthfully. “She's suspicious, though. So it's better to wait till they go to sleep.”

 

Clarke shifts in her arms, and Lexa glances down to find blue eyes staring at her. She now sees Clarke's face clearly in the dark, and she can't resist softly brushing her nose against hers. She's been doing that a lot lately. Thankfully, Clarke seems to enjoy it instead of finding it weird like many people probably would. Or not. Lexa doesn't have a lot of experience with physical expression of her emotions. And, as usual, Clarke lets out a soft content sound at the eskimo kiss. All good, then. “Wouldn't it be better to wait till they leave for their honeymoon, though?” Clarke is clearly teasing her. Lexa can hear a smile in her voice. But she doesn't stop herself from falling into her trap.

 

“God no.” her whispered answer is quick and horrified. “I kinda... can't wait,” she shyly confesses.

 

“Me too,” Clarke replies, just as shyly. Lexa wonders if Clarke realizes the significance of tonight, as well. She probably does. Clarke is much better at this than she is. She's a little more... normal is probably the word. Although 'normal' is an outdated concept in a lot of aspects.

 

(She knows it doesn't change the fact that there is something quite not right about her, but she doesn't want to dwell on it right now. She never wants to dwell on it, truth be told.)

 

“So what do you wanna do now?” Clarke asks, settling into her comfortably. “We could watch something. Or just... talk.” The prospect is slightly terrifying. To both of them, Lexa thinks. She doesn't miss the way Clarke's voice shakes a little bit at the last word. But she's also tried of watching tv shows that are just one big mess in her head at this point. Last night, she honest to god thought a character from one tv show belonged to another and was very confused when he didn't appear in the episode.

 

If there is a god up there, Lexa thinks, he must like her enough to help her out sometimes, because at this exact moment, her phone rings, saving her from having to choose. “Sorry,” she whispers apologetically, reaching into her pocket. They both glance at the screen, and she feels Clarke tense up for a split second before relaxing. She tenses up, too, in surprise. It's been a while since she got a call from her. A long while.

 

It's Anya.

 

Lexa gently untangles herself from Clarke, gesturing that she'd rather take this call outside. It's nothing to do with Clarke. She's just not used to talking on the phone while someone's listening in. Clarke shifts and lets her get up, and she hurries to her room, feeling giddy anticipation settle deep in her stomach.

 

She missed Anya.

 

A gruff voice starts talking as soon as she picks up the phone. “ _What took you so long? Thought you were dead or something._ ” It's a very sweet sentiment coming from Anya, and Lexa feels a wide smile take over her lips. Anya sounds exactly the same. In fact, she changes very little over the years. She's solid. Constant. Comforting.

 

“I'm not dead,” she replies simply.

 

“ _Good to know. Not interrupting anything, am I?_ ”

 

Lexa thinks about wide blue eyes and a shy smile and shakes her head. “No, not... not really.”

 

Anya's never been easy to fool. “ _You hesitated. I'm totally interrupting. Who is she?_ ” Her sister lets out a short laugh, then. “ _Nobody important since you chose to answer the phone, though, is she?_ ”

 

“She's important.” Lexa feels annoyance prickle at her skin before biting her tongue. Anya doesn't know anything. It's actually been around seven months since they last talked or saw each other. Lexa's used to it. Anya's constantly traveling, and even if she weren't, she knows their contact would still be as infrequent and random. It's who Anya is. Free and unburdened and vivid and entirely unlike Lexa. She's always drawn to people she can't understand. Explains the girl in the room across the hall.

 

“ _Oh_.” Anya grows quiet for a second. “ _So it's, like, serious?_ ” Lexa's also used to the fact that they never really have small talk. A month, half a year, a year since they last talked – and they just jump back into conversation as if no time has passed at all. Anya's the only person who knows everything there is to know about her. Or was the only person.

 

And Lexa feels that right now it's a little different. She can't just tell Anya everything. But she really, really wants to. “You could say so,” she starts slowly. “She's my step sister.”

 

Anya's sudden laughter is sudden and unexpected. “ _Lexa! I thought you were fucking someone. So you got a new sis, huh? Is she better than me? Thread carefully._ ” She hears shuffling before Anya speaks again. “ _She gotta be better than Roan, though. Anyone is better than Roan_.”

 

“He wasn't that bad.”

 

Her sister snorts. “ _Right. Okay. So tell me everything._ ” That's the thing, isn't it? She can't. Although if anyone would understand, it's probably Anya.

 

“I split my head open two weeks ago.” _I'm in love with my step sister._

 

“ _Damn. Are you okay?_ ”

 

“Yes. Clarke's been taking care of me.”

 

“ _Clarke, huh? She sounds good. Maybe you'll get a friend out of it when Charles kicks her mom to the curb._ ” Anya's not too fond of her father. Lexa doesn't blame her.

 

“I think I already did.”

 

Anya's voice grows warm, and suddenly Lexa wants nothing more than to see her again. “ _It's great, Lex. I'm glad. I..._ ” her sister hesitates. She usually does when she's about to approach the _something-not-quite-right_ that Lexa's got going on. Lexa used to think she was put off by it. Now, she thinks Anya's scared. Of it, of her, for her. Either one or all three. “ _I know how much you don't like people in your space._ ”

 

“I don't. But Clarke's good.” _I'm in love with her._

 

Anya's silent for a moment. Then, “ _Huh. Maybe I should see for myself,_ ” and Lexa's heart picks up the pace.

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“ _I'm saying I might pop by, kiddo._ ” Anya's smug smirk is unmistakable. Lexa grips the phone with both hands now, blinking. “ _Your little town is boring, but it's not so bad in spring. And frozen yogurt's not the same without you. Oh, and I can't miss your graduation, either, can I?_ ”

 

Spring. One huge reason to look forward to it, as opposed to one huge reason to dread it. “I can't wait,” she lets Anya know. When was the last time she actually _saw_ her? She wonders if Anya's taller, skinnier, tanner. If she's grown opposite to all of these things.

 

“ _I love how excited you sound, lil sis,_ ” Anya deadpans. Lexa hears something shuffling in the background. Car horns and loud conversations and wind. Anya's somewhere outside now. “ _I gotta go now_.” she sounds quieter and softer. Lexa thinks she's sad, just like her. “ _I... I'm sorry I don't call often. Stay safe, yeah? Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Like split your head often. Seriously, Lexa._ ”

 

She smiles at the exasperation in Anya's voice. “Okay. I won't.”

 

“ _Damn right you won't. I'll kick your ass if I have to, dum dum._ ”

 

“Goodbye, Anya.”

 

Usually, Anya hangs up right after that. She hates goodbyes. This time, however, she lingers. “ _I'll see you soon, Lex._ ”

 

Lexa listens to a dial tone for while after Anya disconnects. When she enters Clarke's room again, she finds her step sister curled up in the middle of her bed, fast asleep, and she chuckles at the sight. Seems like they are waiting, after all. Lexa can't say she's too disappointed. A little, yes. Not a lot.

 

She gently picks Clarke up – since she's asleep, she can't fight her off, claiming head injury – and places her under the covers, climbing in next. Clarke doesn't even stir, only rolls on her side to latch onto Lexa, and then she's still again, her soft snores letting Lexa know she's sleeping soundly.

 

It's not long before Lexa joins her. She dozes off, at first, dimly aware of Clarke's weight on her, and then she's out.

 

//

 

When she wakes, she's disoriented and groggy at first. That passes quickly, and she blinks herself back into consciousness when she feels soft lips being pressed to her neck over and over again. Instinctively, she pulls back a little, and the body next to her stills.

 

“Sorry.” Clarke's voice is huskier than usual, laced with sleep. “Didn't mean to wake you. I just-” she stops abruptly, brushing her hand over Lexa's abs and sighing. Oh. _Oh._

 

She clears her throat. “It's okay.” A brief glance at the clock lets her know it's one in the morning. “Everyone's asleep,” she points out, unnecessarily.

 

“Yeah.” she struggles to focus on Clarke's face. Blue eyes are watching her, and – this is a very new feeling. She can't describe it, but it never felt like this before. Clarke's gaze is full of such tender _need_ that Lexa's quite literally breathless. “Lexa...”

 

 _I'm here,_ Lexa thinks, and leans in, brushing her lips across Clarke's. They've done it so many times. Why does this feel like the very first?

 

Clarke is trembling when Lexa rolls them over gently and stares down at her. She's surprised to realize her own hands are shaking a little, too. But Clarke's more important. “Is this okay?” she breathes out, swallowing. Clarke nods.

 

“Yes. It's... Yes.” She watches as Clarke blinks rapidly. “Come here.”

 

Lexa obliges, lowering her torso and kissing her again. She settles between Clarke's thighs, gasping when Clarke rolls her hips up into her. Clarke's hot and melting under her, pawing at her shoulders and pressing against her, trying to get impossibly close. She's still trembling a little, and Lexa slows down, peppering her face and neck with kisses. “Shh,” she whispers into her skin. “It's okay.”

 

“Yes,” Clarke sighs as Lexa ventures lower, leaving kisses as she goes. “God, Lexa, yes...” But, as Lexa starts to press her lips to Clarke's stomach, she's being tugged up again. “Wait,” Clarke breathlessly says. “Like this.” _With me_ , Lexa reads in her eyes, and nods, her own green ones wide and wild. She can't say no to that. She can never say no to Clarke.

 

Her body is shaking with nervous anticipation as she slowly takes her shirt off with Clarke's help. Clarke's tank top is next. Lexa sends it flying somewhere, and Clarke plops onto her back. It's hard to breathe, but Lexa welcomes it. Because Clarke is splayed out before her, blonde hair all over the pillow and naked chest heaving with labored breathing. She's looking up at her with something akin to awe in her eyes, and Lexa's sure her own gaze is the same. She certainly feels like it.

 

She slowly settles back on her heels, gliding her hands down Clarke's stomach and up her thighs as she does so. Revels in the feeling of her smooth skin against her calloused fingers and thinks of the liquid heat waiting for her. Silk and velvet. She tugs Clarke's panties down her legs, maintaining her slow pace and looking into blue eyes, wide and earnest. Her nostrils flare, and she can smell her, musky and ready. Her own boxers come off quick and easy, and she loses them somewhere on the bed. It doesn't matter right now.

 

Just like always, she's torn between fast and slow. She wants to savor it, but god, Clarke is writhing before her and making it impossible to resist taking her right here, right now. The blonde is biting her lower lip and clutching at cotton sheets and it's the most beautiful sight Lexa's ever laid her eyes on. She's sure of one thing. She wants to drown in her tonight.

 

No more holding back.

 

Clarke welcomes her with a soft kiss as Lexa hovers above her again, her left hand finding Clarke's right and lacing their fingers together near Clarke's head. There is a spark running between them everywhere they touch, skin on skin. Both moan when Lexa finally, finally presses into her, feeling just how wet Clarke is against her lower stomach.

 

She needs more.

 

It's almost scary how alike they seem to think in this moment, with Clarke's left hand traveling between Lexa's legs in time with Lexa's right hand doing the same to her. Their mouths are still connected. Lexa breathes in and Clarke breathes out. It all feels surreal and right and a lot and Lexa never wants it to stop.

 

Clarke whimpers when Lexa's fingers find her clit, and then Clarke's fingers are doing the same to her and it's like she's flying. There is a universe expanding in her chest, and Clarke's a part of her; no, Clarke _is_ her, vibrant and vivid and _hers._

 

This, right here, is the moment Lexa's been practicing in her head, and she squeezes Clarke's hand tighter as she positions her fingers at her cunt. Clarke does the same, looking up at her, and Lexa doesn't have to call this flash in her eyes _something_. They are about to make love, and that's exactly what Clarke is looking at her with.

 

She forces her eyes to stay open when they enter each other, and here it is. “Clarke,” she gasps, staring at her. “I love you.”

 

Clarke's reply comes in desperate kisses and nuzzles and soft gasps; in the arch of her back and neck, in her eyes and lips and caressing hands, and finally, finally, when Lexa bucks against her hands and feels pulses around her fingers, she lets go, clutching her hand in hers and tightening her legs around Lexa's hips.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

//

 

They fall asleep somewhere around sunrise. All Lexa knows is that Clarke's hair looks gold with the bleak morning sun shining on it.

 

They lie side by side, facing each other, watching each other. With Clarke, being silent is comfortable and comforting. It isn't heavy or exhausting. Clarke occasionally traces the lines of her face, so softly it's almost as if she isn't touching her at all. She draws circles on Clarke's sides and lower back in return.

 

 _I love you,_ Clarke's touches tell her, and she whispers it back into her hair and lips and neck. It doesn't lead to sex. Somehow, they are both content just being, just laying there, with fingers tracing skin. She watches as the room around Clarke changes from dark to grey to golden pink. The only thing that doesn't change is Clarke herself. Her eyes. Her smile and the biting of her lower lip. She smells like _them_ , and Lexa can't get enough of Clarke's deep chuckles when she nuzzles her neck to breathe her in.

 

Lexa's not sure who falls asleep first. She knows she's the first one to wake up, with Clarke facing away from her and holding their entwined hands right near her lips. She smiles as she remembers Clarke faintly kissing her knuckles through her sleep. Their legs are tangled up, too. Lexa stirs and cuddles Clarke close, pressing a small kiss to her naked shoulder. She almost falls back asleep when the reason of her awakening makes itself known once again. Someone's knocking on Clarke's door and is clearly running out of patience.

 

Oh, no. Oh no no no.

 

Lexa's careful not to jostle Clarke awake as she untangles herself from her, quickly locating her boxers and tugging them on. The knocking grows louder, and a voice adds itself to the equation.

 

“ _Clarke, wake up. Breakfast is ready._ ” Lexa prays Abby leaves after that, but the woman seems adamant about seeing her daughter. “ _Clarke? Honey?_ ” There is a slight pause, during which Lexa finds her shirt and Clarke's tank top. But Abby's next words stop her in her tracks. “ _Is Lexa in there with you?_ ”

 

It's not the words themselves. It's the tone that has Lexa frowning. Abby sounds unsure and suspicious and even though Lexa isn't an expert on tones and expressions and people in general, she's pretty sure this isn't very good.

 

She squats next to Clarke's side of the bed, gently brushing blonde hair from the girl's eyes. It's a pity they didn't get to enjoy their morning after, Lexa thinks. They had plenty of them, yes, but none quite like this. And Lexa has a feeling they won't get another one like this. They'll get worse and better but this one is gone.

 

But, even with Abby hovering near and speaking in weird tones, she won't be robbed of the chance to wake Clarke up with a kiss, and so that's what she does. Clarke tastes like sleep and morning breath and her lips are chapped and Lexa doesn't care.

 

Blue eyes flutter open. “Lexa?”

 

She smiles as she watches Clarke blink the sleep away. “Hi.”

 

Clarke smiles back, sleepy and warm. “Hi,” and they are kissing again. Lexa really, really doesn't like Abby right now, because she knocks again just as Clarke deepens the kiss.

 

“Oh, um, your mother is at the door-”

 

“ _Clarke? Either you open this door or I'm opening it for you._ ”

 

“-and she seems pissed,” Lexa concludes. She offers an apologetic smile as Clarke rolls her eyes, quickly tugging her clothes from the last night on and marching up to the door. It's a good thing Clarke likes to sleep with her window cracked open, Lexa thinks briefly. At least her room doesn't stink like a sex dungeon.

 

Clarke throws the door open, and Abby catches a glimpse of Lexa perched on the edge of her bed. “Oh,” the woman says, her expression unreadable. “Good morning, Lexa.”

 

“Good morning, Abby.”

 

The woman nods, looking between the girls. Out of everything that's going on, Lexa finds the lack of surprise on her face the mo st unnerving. Finally, Abby settles on giving Clarke a pointed look. “Clarke? A word?”

 

Clarke sighs. “Mom...”

 

“ _Now._ ” Lexa gulps at this. She doesn't exactly has any personal experience, but this sounded like the universal ' _you're in trouble'_ mom tone. Clarke sighs and steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind her – but not before throwing a reassuring glance Lexa's way. It's sweet of her, but the attempt is futile. Lexa's nerves aren't calmed down.

 

“ _Why is Lexa in your room?”_ Abby doesn't pull any punches. Once again, Lexa's reminded that despite their differences, they are still mother and daughter.

 

“ _We were watching a movie and fell asleep_ ,” Clarke replies with a huff. As good a lie as any, Lexa supposes. And not entirely untrue.

 

Mother and daughter are silent for a moment, and Lexa imagines a stare down. It can't be pretty. Then, Abby speaks up, much quieter this time. “ _Honey, you know about Lexa and her... preferences._ ” Oh.

 

“... _Preferences?_ ” Clarke sounds as incredulous as Lexa feels. She tries to say something else, but Abby shushes her.

 

“ _I wasn't done, Clarke. This is an equivalent of sharing a bed with a boy, and you're not allowed to do that._ ”

 

“ _What? We're step sisters!”_ Lexa winces. Not the best argument. _“I don't-”_

 

“ _I'm not stupid, Clarke._ ” Abby interrupts her once again. “ _You've grown a little too close. Lexa can't spend the night in your room anymore. Same goes for you. Do you understand me?_ ”

 

“ _Right._ ” Lexa winces again, this time at Clarke's tone. This won't end well. “ _Because of her 'preferences'._ ” She wonders if Clarke used air quotes. She most likely did. “ _What about my 'preferences', huh, mom? Maybe it isn't Lexa you should be worried about._ ” Oh, okay, that is so not good.

 

Before Abby has a chance to reply, Lexa opens the door, joining the Griffins in their tense stand off. Clarke's mother looks positively furious, and her daughter isn't far behind. This is a disaster. “You're pretty loud,” Lexa lets them both know, and some of the anger fades from Abby's expression. “I won't spend the night in Clarke's room. You don't have to worry about it.” Clarke looks like she wants to say something, but Lexa gives her a pleading look, and she presses her lips together. “I'm sorry if I overstepped any boundaries.”

 

Abby shakes her head, letting out a weary sigh. “No, I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't mean for you to hear any of it.” Lexa's heard a lot of flimsy apologies, but this certainly makes the top list. “When I said 'preferences', I didn't mean anything bad, I was just stating a fact. I hope you understand my... concerns.”

 

Lexa knows they are the ones in the wrong, but she can't let this particular thing slide. “It's still not okay to say that, Mrs. Griffin.”

 

To her surprise, Abby doesn't argue. “You're right. I'm really sorry, Lexa. I shouldn't have put it like that.” She watches the woman take a deep breath. “However, you're two... queer teenage girls under one roof, and sometimes things happen. I'd like for you both to come talk to me if... if you feel something you _shouldn't_ feel.” The emphasis feels like more than it is.

 

Abby's words are still far from okay, but Lexa's tired and scared and pretty sure arguing with her is no use. “Right. Of course.” She nudges Clarke who's still silent, and the girl sighs.

 

“Sure.” Clarke's answer is void of any emotion, but it seems to satisfy her mother.

 

“Good.” She clasps her hands together. “Now, get ready and come downstairs for breakfast. Is ten minutes okay?”

 

They nod, and Abby stands there until Lexa goes to her room.

 

//

 

This is all her fault, Lexa thinks. She's the older one. The sensible one. She should have known it was a bad idea, with Abby being this suspicious. In her defense, however, Clarke is incredibly persuasive.

 

“Clarke, we shouldn't,” she tries to mumble against insistent lips. Her body betrays her, pressing the girl against the fridge as same insistent lips leave sloppy marks all over her neck. “We're not alone.”

 

“Never stopped us before,” Clarke mumbles back and nips at her lower lip. So unfair. She knows what it does to her. Lexa gasps and opens her mouth, meeting Clarke's tongue with her own. They get lost in a heated kiss before Lexa breaks away, placing her forehead against Clarke's. Blue eyes sparkle in the darkness of the night, mischievous and hungry.

 

“Abby wasn't this suspicious before,” she points out. Suspicious. Right. She practically told them she knows something's going on. And doing what they are doing isn't simply risking it. It's bordering on suicidal.

 

Clarke huffs. “You're no fun.”

 

Lexa nods. “No, I'm no fun at all.” She swallows, then. “You know we can't, Clarke. Not here.”

 

“Fine.” Her step sister sighs. She doesn't exactly have a choice but to agree. “One last kiss before we move it to your room?” Lexa chuckles at the exaggerated battling of lashes, but still relents. The worst idea she's ever had. She really needs to learn to be more stern with Clarke.

 

Lexa's gently sucking on Clarke's lower lip when the back of her closed eyelids becomes red, and she opens her eyes to find the kitchen bathed in warm lamp light. A second later, Clarke yelps against her lips, and she jumps back from her, her back knocking into the kitchen island. She doesn't need to turn to know Abby's standing in the doorway. Clarke's horrified expression tells her everything she needs to know.

 

Still, she turns, and she's never seen Abigail Griffin look so pale and so angry before.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. the road ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last scene suggested listening: leona lewis - iris (goo goo dolls cover)

 

If she had to choose, their second time making love would be her favorite one. Precisely making love, because they've had their fair share of fucking and they've had sex and with Clarke it might be the same thing but for Lexa it's not. Whenever she catches Clarke looking at her, though, she's sure it's not the same for Clarke either, now that they are in love with each other.

 

Lexa doubts she'll ever get tired of stating that fact. Repeating it to herself over and over again. She's still quietly amazed; stunned every time she looks at Clarke and the realization hits her square in her chest.

 

She doesn't have to hide behind the weak 'like' when she thinks about Clarke. She loves the way Clarke scrunches her nose up when she's confused or concentrated. She loves the way Clarke bites her tongue when she teases her. Loves how Clarke always makes an effort to put everything back exactly the way it was. Loves how she knocks before entering her room. Loves watching her sleep and eat and read and smile and laugh.

 

Loves how Clarke is able to tell her she loves her without any words at all, in the quiet of their bed, holding her gaze and smoothing her thumb over her cheek. Loves loves loves.

 

Those little moments are exactly why their second time (making love, that is) is her favorite. The parents left for the weekend, and since it was winter break, they didn't have any homework so their evening was free. There was no one but them. They woke up slowly and softly, to kisses and strokes and smiles.

 

Clarke's skin was warm and smelled like sun, somehow. She remembers because she said that out loud and Clarke's nose crinkled when she laughed. She thought it was silly because the sun doesn’t have a smell, and they argued about that before Lexa had enough and pinned her to the mattress, effectively shutting her up and making her scream instead. Lexa wants to go back there right now. Wants to trace Clarke's warm, naked skin.

 

And, if she's being honest with herself, she just wants to go back there because there was no Abby.

 

But she's in the now, and the now has Abby Griffin staring them down silently. It's like she's waiting for them to crack. Lexa really isn't sure what more she could possibly want. She caught them red handed. There's not much they can confess after this.

 

"How long has this been going on?" _Or_ there is.

 

Clarke twitches next to her on the couch, and Lexa curls her hand in a fist to stop herself from reaching out to her. No need to aggravate Abby further. "Not long," the girl mumbles.

 

"Define 'not long'." Abby's voice is pure ice, and Lexa shivers. Her step sister glances at her, then, a silent question in her eyes, and she sighs. There's not much use in lying, she thinks. But Clarke clearly has a different idea.

 

The blonde blinks and meets her mother's steady gaze. "A little less than a month."

 

Lexa struggles not to choke at the blatant lie.

 

"A month." Doesn't look like Abby is buying it, either. But Lexa trusts Clarke with her own mother. If she thinks they will be better off lying, she'll support it.

 

"Yes," she croaks out, fingers grasping at the hem of her shirt when Abby looks at her. She never wants to be under this gaze again. "Less than a month. We... I'm..."

 

"I started it." Clarke's eyes are crystal blue and her gaze is unwavering. Lexa finds herself envying her skill. She has trouble simply meeting people's eyes sometimes. Not often, but she does. Clarke looks Abby square in the eye as she lies her ass off, and it's something to admire, really. "Because I'm in love with her."

 

The silence that follows is deafening. Lexa can swear she's able to hear her father's snores. Abby's staring Clarke down and Clarke isn't shrinking away and it's all too much. She feels cold and hot at the same time, and when she glances down at her hands, she finds them shaking.

 

"...You're in love with her." This isn't a good voice. "And you?" When it's directed at Lexa, it's hard steel, and she swallows, not meeting Abby's eyes. "Are you _in love_ with my daughter?" The woman practically spits the words out, and Lexa recoils as if slapped. "Are you?" Abby has been trying to speak low so Lexa's father doesn't hear them, but with every new word at Lexa, the volume grows. "Speak. _Now_."

 

"If you want her to speak, let her, for fuck's sake!" Clarke isn't better at the whole quiet thing. She feels her hand cover hers with gentle cautiousness, and squeezes back, hard.

 

She still can't meet Abby's eyes, but if she did, she thinks she'd see them widen with indignation.

 

"Young lady-!" Abby chokes on air, too enraged to speak. "You will not - you will not speak to me in that tone!"

 

"Oh, I will not? How about-"

 

Lexa's head hurts. "Clarke." She can't focus enough to say anything else, but she tries.

 

"Please." she squeezes her hand again, and Clarke is at her side, holding her. It's only a matter of time before Abby interferes. Lexa's eyes are shut, but she feels Clarke being pried away from her.

 

What a fucking mess.

 

She has to focus, she knows that. Before it all gets out of control more that it already has. Her hand is still in Clarke's as the Griffin women argue about something - about _her_ , but she drowns them out, thinking about her breathing. One in. One out. Clarke's hand is squeezing hers almost painfully. One in. One out. Clarke's almost shouting. One in. One out. Get your hands off me, Clarke says, screams. One in. In the quiet of their bed, Clarke is tracing her fingers over her face, memorizing every little line to put it on paper, and she smiles when Lexa kisses her thumb.

 

One in. In. In. There is a slap.

 

The world is tiny and narrowed to this small, suffocating room, and Lexa can't breathe and it's white and hot and unbearable.

 

"Lexa." One in. "Lexa. Breathe. Honey, open your eyes and look at me." One in. There are hands on her cheek, and they are soft and warm. "Lexa. Please, honey, open your eyes."

 

The voice is gentle and quiet, so she does as she's told. She's no longer sitting - now, she's lying on the couch, with Abby Griffin staring at her with worry. Clarke is frozen behind her. Lexa notices tears streaming down her face before she notices she still can't breathe.

 

The sounds she's making are not pretty.

 

"Lexa," Abby is stern but kind. "Look at me and breathe with me, okay? Only focus on me. In. Out. That's it. Watch me and repeat." She watches. Abby's face is no longer crinkled with anger. Out. That's right. She forgot _out_.

 

One in, one out. That's how it goes.

 

"Good," Abby says when Lexa stops wheezing and coughs, letting the air into her lungs. "You're doing great, dear." Her hands move with practiced ease of a mother, smoothing her hair and rubbing her back. "Keep going."

 

One in. One out.

 

Abby's eyes are glassy and wide. “I'm sorry,” the woman whispers, before Clarke pushes her aside and grabs Lexa's face.

 

“You're okay,” the girl says shakily. “You're okay. It's okay.”

 

It's really, really not.

 

In a sense, Lexa's panic attack saved them from being thoroughly interrogated. At the very least, it bought them some time. Abby doesn't push for the talk, but she sees them to their separate rooms, frowning the entire time.

 

“I will not say anything to Charles,” she states firmly, “as long as there is nothing to say.” Clarke looks like she wants to argue, but Lexa's cold hand on her arm stops her. As soon as Abby promises to keep her father in the dark, Lexa's heart slows its erratic beating down. There it is, she thinks. The main reason of her panic attack downstairs. She doesn't know her father very well. She doesn't get him most of the time. So she has no idea how he might react and what he might do. To her and to Clarke. Especially to Clarke.

 

Abby's promise – a thinly veiled threat, really, but she'll take it – is enough for Lexa to agree to all of her conditions. So she touches Clarke's arm and brushes her thumb over her skin, silently begging her to concede.

 

Mrs Griffin-Woods willfully doesn't notice. “This stops now. Both of you are very smart girls, and you understand that it can't go on like this. You're _sisters_.” There is that steely edge to Abby's voice again as she glares at them. “Legally bound sisters. And this is... This is wrong.”

 

 _This is wrong_. How many times has Lexa been told these exact words? Or Clarke? Wrong – such a subjective concept. Wrong is something adults sometimes use as a reason when they run out of compelling arguments. Because – how can this be wrong? How can holding Clarke's hand be wrong, how can kissing her in the morning be wrong, _how can_ _love be wrong?_

 

But Clarke is brash and unapologetic and Lexa's father is a quick-tempered man sometimes, and for the first time in years Lexa has someone else to think of beside herself. So she nods and tries not to notice Clarke's unshed tears.

 

“I'll talk to both of you in the morning,” Abby adds. So it's not over. Far from it, Lexa thinks. Won't be over until she leaves for college. Maybe, not even then.

 

It's only when she enters her room that she realizes she never told Abby if she was in love with Clarke too.

 

//

 

It's rather unfortunate, Lexa thinks, that Abby found out about them just as her honeymoon was about to start. She can't really postpone it without raising Mr. Woods' suspicions. And she won't be able to thoroughly enjoy her trip knowing her daughter is alone with Lexa, doing god knows what.

 

On some level, she feels sorry for the woman. Mainly because Abby's right. There is no way Lexa won't enjoy being alone with Clarke for a month, because it's very likely that as soon as Abby returns, she'll make their lives a living hell.

 

They survive the talk. Lexa is silent almost the entire time, only nodding whenever appropriate. It's full of 'this is wrong' and 'you can't' and 'you're too young to know what love is' – Lexa thinks Clarke barely held herself back from lunging at the last one.

 

The next day, Abby and Charles leave for their honeymoon, and, as soon as their cab is out of sight, Lexa meets Clarke halfway, tightly holding her close.

 

“I'm so sorry,” Clarke whispers frantically. “I didn't – Lexa, I'm so sorry.” Her lip trembles, and Lexa soothingly captures it, giving her a soft, innocent kiss and smiling when Clarke melts into it.

 

“It's not your fault,” she breathes. “Don't be sorry.”

 

They spend the rest of the day in bed, making up for time they haven't lost yet. That's how they spend the month, too. Lexa drives Clarke to school and Clarke waits for Lexa to finish up with all of her extracurriculars before driving them back home. They don't have any classes together, but sometimes, Lexa walks Clarke to hers, when she has the time - which is rarely.

 

Their closeness doesn't exactly go unnoticed. Lexa's waiting for Clarke near her locker when Raven Reyes appears seemingly out of nowhere, leaning against the lockers and playing idly with her cane. A car accident, Lexa remembers.

 

“Hey.” Raven's voice doesn't sound hostile, but it isn't particularly friendly, either. “You waiting for Clarke?”

 

Lexa nods. “Hello. Yes.”

 

“So you guys are like, what, friends now?”

 

Lexa blinks. “I guess,” she says slowly. Raven is... a lot. They never really interacted much, but from what she's seen, the girl is quite explosive. She's the only one out of Clarke's friends to share not one, but several classes with Lexa, and while Lexa mostly keeps to herself, Raven is quite the presence. Truth be told, she quietly admires the girl when she's not busy rolling her eyes at her apparent immaturity.

 

She watches as Reyes shifts her weight, wincing slightly. “Cool,” she says. “Don't know what you did, but Clarke can't shut up about you. So, I guess you're alright.” Lexa blinks again when the girl thrusts a hand at her, and she tentatively shakes it.

 

Raven grins. “Cool,” she repeats. “So, what'd you get in Calc?”

 

Next week, Lexa quite literally gets hit in the face with a party invitation from Raven – a piece of paper rolled up in a ball and flung at her by a grinning Reyes in the hallway. Clarke looks ready to kill, though Lexa notices an adoring smirk she tries to hide. She can't help but relate, really. Raven has that effect on people, she discovered.

 

“I'm sorry,” Clarke offers apologetically as Lexa picks up the paper ball, confused. “I know Raven can be... a lot,” she says, unknowingly putting Lexa's thoughts into words. Lexa skims over the poorly scribbled words, chuckles and lifts her eyes to look at Clarke.  
  
“It's okay,” she shrugs. “It's not a bad thing.”

 

Clarke smiles, and that cements Lexa's tentative friendship with the least likely person of all. She doesn't go to the party, and Raven gets it, surprisingly. Lexa supposes she didn't expect her to – it was more of a peace offering. And the reason for that becomes clear very soon. When the parents come back from their honeymoon, in fact. By the time Abby's back, Raven is a welcomed house guest, and Lexa marvels at the way Clarke's mind works. Who else, if not her step sister, orchestrated the entire thing?

 

Raven is their buffer.

 

With Raven, they can cuddle during a movie night and do their homework together without requiring Abby's presence in the room. With Raven, they can trade fleeting touches and glances and smiles without fear of being scolded or glared at, because while Raven isn't blind, she's not easy to freak out, either. Maybe, she simply doesn't care. Maybe, she actually cares a lot. Lexa doesn't know, but she's grateful either way.

 

She wonders if the girl knows more than she lets on – who knows what Clarke told her during sleepovers – but finds she doesn't really care. Raven's trustworthy, and the worst has happened anyway. Abby already knows. That's what she tells Clarke when they meet in a supply closet at school. A little obvious, yes, but secure nonetheless. They don't have much of a choice. Their house is off limits with Abby back.

 

“Should we tell her?” The question is rushed against Clarke's impatient lips, and the girl is too dazed to understand what she's talking about right away.

 

“...What?”

 

“Raven. Should we tell her?”

 

Clarke blinks. “Really? That's what you're thinking about right now?”

 

Actually, she's been thinking about it for quite some time now. Ever since she's received several college acceptance letters. “I just-” _don't want you to be alone._

 

Clarke waits for her to finish her sentence, and when Lexa doesn't, she nods. “I know you must have a reason to bring this up,” she says quietly. “But I also have a feeling it might get heavy, so – can we discuss it later? On our ride home?” her hand is almost hot on Lexa's arm.

 

She swallows. “It's nothing too serious.” It is, but she doesn't want to – she doesn't. “If you want to tell her, I won't object.”

 

Clarke nods and kisses her and they leave it at that. Next time Raven comes over, she winks at Lexa and gracefully slips out of the room in the middle of the movie. When she comes back an hour later, presumably from taking an important call in the next room, Clarke pinches her for the low whistle at their disheveled appearance. It doesn't stop her from giving Lexa a thumbs up and a grin.

 

When Clarke isn't looking, Lexa grins back.

 

//

 

Clarke breaks two months into their new routine. It's an ordinary day, for Lexa, at least. They wake up, they have tense breakfast, and Abby announces she wants to stay and 'bond with her daughters' instead of joining Mr. Woods for his next trip. Expected, really. For Lexa, at least.

 

She senses Clarke's agitation as she drives them to school. Her step sister is quiet and sullen, and for Clarke, it's unusual.

 

Lexa thinks Abby severely misjudged her. The woman knows how serious Lexa is about school – that's the only reason she let Lexa drive Clarke to school. That, and Lexa's seemingly meek obedience. Abby clearly hasn't taken into account how serious Lexa is about her daughter.

 

She takes a sharp turn, causing Clarke to widen her eyes and look around.  
  
“Lexa?”

 

She's surprised when her voice isn't shaking at having disrupted her routine. “We're taking the day off.” She won't lie – it is mildly uncomfortable. But Clarke's smile, while sad, is gorgeous, and she tightens her hold on her hand as she aimlessly drives somewhere into the woods. They park near a small river, not too far from the main road – Lexa wants them to spend the day together, not get hopelessly lost. As soon as she turns the engine off, Clarke is in her arms.

 

“Hey,” Lexa is surprised. “It's alright, Clarke-”

 

“No,” Her step sister interrupts. She's agitated, even Lexa can sense that. “No, it's not. She's – Lexa, I hate her. So much.”

 

Lexa presses a small kiss to the top of Clarke's head, sighing. She knows where she's coming from. She also knows Clarke doesn't mean this. “You don't.”

 

It's a small pause before Clarke replies. “Fine. I don't. But I hate _this.”_

 

Lexa's confused. “But – you've been okay,” she says. “With Raven and everything...”

 

“God, Lex – but it's not _enough_ ,” Clarke exclaims. Her hands clutch the front of her shirt, then. Travel up to her neck and glide over her shoulders before resting on her face, and Lexa _gets_ it.

 

She blinks, remembering the way Clarke clung to her during their short, stolen time together. Her gasps, desperate and quiet. She was so sad the entire time, how did she not see this? _Because it was enough for me,_ Lexa thinks. The whole set up isn't ideal, but it makes sense to Lexa, and she's okay with it as long as she simply gets to see Clarke and talk to her and just be near her. To her, car drives and movie nights with Raven are enough. But Clarke is normal. Clarke craves the _touch_. And ever since the parents came back home, she's been starving for it.

 

Lexa thinks about acceptance letters stashed in her bag, and her hold on Clarke tightens. She doesn't know what to say. But Clarke's eyes find hers, and she thinks they don't have to talk at all.

 

The journey to the backseat is fumbled and hurried, just like their kisses. Clarke is impatient, and, even though lately every kiss has been full of urgency, this time it's on a whole another level. She gasps when Clarke thrusts her hand down her pants, moaning at finding her ready. They still don't talk when Clarke tears her pants off her. They don't talk when Clarke pushes her onto her back and descends down her body, leaving quick, hurried kisses on her chest and stomach. And there is not much Lexa can say when Clarke's mouth closes around her throbbing clit.

 

She simply breathes out her name when Clarke adds her fingers. It doesn't take much for her to unravel: this sense of urgency and the heat of Clarke's mouth make it quick. She doesn't even last two minutes before she's moaning and rolling her hips, watching Clarke drink her in, her eyes wide and unfocused.

 

She's still trying to catch her breath as Clarke comes back up, slowly kissing her stomach and chest. Right over her heart.

 

“Hey,” she hears her whisper.

 

“Hey back.” Blue eyes are twinkling with amusement, but it's dull, and Lexa hates it. She's slammed with so many feelings at once, some old and some new, and she grasps at Clarke to ground herself. “I miss you,” she gasps. “So much.”

 

She's so afraid Clarke doesn't believe her, and she wouldn't blame her. Not with the way she's been with her lately.

 

But Clarke's reply is adoring and quiet. “I know, baby. I know.” And the way she's looking at her makes Lexa think that maybe they have a chance after all. Maybe it was a stupid idea to hide those letters. Maybe, she didn't have the right intention when she asked Clarke to tell Raven about them.

 

If Clarke is strong enough, then so is she. So are they.

 

“I got in,” she rasps out. Clarke's hand is soothing on her cheek. “College. All of them.”

 

Clarke chuckles. “You got into approximately 5000 colleges? The scariest thing is, I'm not even surprised.” Any other time, Lexa would have chuckled back, but she needs Clarke to take this seriously.

 

“I got accepted everywhere I applied,” she states. Everywhere means New York. Means Boston. Means California. Means thousands of miles away from Clarke. Clarke, whose eyes soften and whose gaze is unwavering.

 

“I know.” And Lexa isn't surprised, not really. Maybe, deep down, she knew Clarke knew.

 

They are silent before Clarke speaks up again. “I didn't look through your stuff, if that's what you're wondering.”

 

“I'm not.” Lexa adds a soft kiss to her otherwise dry answer and smiles when she feels Clarke's lips curve against her neck.

 

“Okay. Good. I just guessed that you got your acceptance letters. You've been fidgety.”

 

At this, Lexa lets out a small chuckle. “I'm always fidgety.”

 

Clarke scoffs. “No, you're not, or I wouldn't have guessed.” she reaches up, planting a soft kiss on Lexa's lips. “I just figured you'd tell me when you're ready.”

 

“And I did.”

 

Clarke nods. “And you did.” She doesn't press for more, but when Lexa gently rolls them over, her eyes are much brighter than before. Lexa can't stop smiling into their kiss. She feels lighter than she has in weeks. Months.

 

“Polis,” she pants when they break away for some air. “I'm going to Polis.”

 

Clarke immediately frowns. “Lexa, it's a pretty big decision,” she says. “Not something you can decide like... this.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Her step sister snorts. “With no pants on after a hot blonde fucked your brains out.” Lexa hears what Clarke isn't saying. _You can't make this decision based on me._

 

But she wants to. “I've considered all choices,” she says. “Polis U has a solid philosophy program, It's a perfect pre-law major. They are also notable for their research. I've looked at their science electives. They are really good. All of that will look great on my law school application.” She's not lying. She did look at Polis university's website. It has good enough standing, great faculty, and many more bullshit reasons when they both know the real one.

 

Polis is the nearest college.

 

She continues when Clarke raises one dubious eyebrow. “They also offered me a full fencing scholarship.” Her heart skips a beat at the look of unadulterated pride on Clarke's face. “I could use the money when I get into Harvard Law after.”

 

“Your father's loaded,” Clarke points out.

 

Lexa shrugs. “I'm not,” she simply says. She wonders if Clarke understands the implication of her curt answer. If she realizes this is Lexa choosing her. Them. Because if they stay together, there is always a good chance of her father finding out about them, and she doesn't know what his reaction might be. He may very well disown her, which would mean no inheritance. She's got a college fund that she'll be able to use for law school if it comes down to this, but other than that, she'll have nothing but the money she makes herself. Another reason Polis is a good choice.

 

Clarke gazes up at her with wonder shining in her eyes, and Lexa knows she understands.

 

//

 

Surprisingly, their life is rather uneventful after that day. They go to school and act good enough to placate Abby after a while. She starts accompanying Lexa's dad to his trips again – little ones, lasting no more than a week or two, but it's more than enough. Lexa's never been more cautious in her entire life, and Clarke is helping. Raven is helping, too. She's surprised to come to think of her as a friend, and the crude note Raven writes in her yearbook is heartwarming.

 

Anya doesn't make it to her graduation, because Lexa's father does, and Lexa gets it. She tells Anya he won't accompany her to college. She knows Anya will be there this time. Clarke can't wait to meet her.

 

Since it's her senior year, her last semester is slightly hectic. Her studies require more attention, and Clarke understands. She always does, and Lexa can't ignore the guilty pang in her chest. Clarke is incredible, and no amount of perfect buttery pancakes and greasy bacon won't be enough to demonstrate just how grateful Lexa is. Still, she tries. She knows she's not good with feelings. Knows, deep down, that Clarke would probably be better off with someone more functioning than she is. But in the end, it's Clarke's choice, and she won't make it for her.

 

And, sometimes, when Clarke looks at her in that special way reserved just for Lexa, she thinks that maybe she's not such a bad choice after all.

 

Clarke cries at her graduation, and Mr. Woods thinks it's sweet. Abby's forced smile looks pained. Raven is wearing a barely concealed pained expression, too, but for a different reason. When she comes to pick Clarke and Lexa up for her party, she drives them to the neighboring town and drops them at a hotel instead.

 

“Graduation gift,” she grunts when she sees their astonished faces. “Better you fuck here than at my house.”

 

Those may be the sweetest words Raven Reyes has ever said to her, Lexa thinks. She'll miss her. It's startling, really. She never thought she'd miss someone when she leaves for college.

 

Her last school summer is the most bittersweet thing she's ever experienced, but she's not relieved when it's over. Far from it, actually. Now that her departure is just around the corner, she wishes she could go back in time and – take a gap year and stay at home, spend more time with Clarke, run away with her. The last one sounds really good to her right now, as she sits on her bed, too wired to sleep, surrounded by pieces of paper with Clarke's notes on them, scrolling through the photos on her phone and thinking of every little moment she'll be leaving behind.

 

Tomorrow. She's leaving tomorrow and the parents are home and she can't fall asleep next to Clarke and she hates it.

 

Her eyes fall on her yearbook, and she smiles as she reads Raven's horrible scribbling. _You're as hot as you're terrifying, Woods,_ it says. _Which means you can do pretty much anything, and if someone says otherwise, fuck em up the ass._

 

It's as graphic as it is inspirational, and Lexa takes a deep breath as she nods to herself, going over her plan once again. The parents are deeply asleep, and she doubts they'll wake up in the middle of the night. She took over the cooking and purposefully changed their diet so it had as much fish, whole grain and kale as possible, along with other ingredients that aid a good full night's sleep. Her father wasn't around for much of it, but he's not the one they should be worrying about. But Abby – Abby is a definite success. She's been cranking up the volume of her documentaries late at night as well as walking in the hallway, and not once had Abby stirred.

 

She didn't risk spending the night with Clarke – too dangerous. But tonight, she doesn't care. It's her last night and she took care of everything there was to take care off.

 

She's still careful when she makes her way to Clarke's room, and she's quiet when she gently shakes the girl's shoulder. Clarke stirs so sweetly Lexa can't help but lean down, softly brushing her lips against hers, and she smiles when she feels the blonde gently exhale.

 

“Hey,” she whispers. Clarke blinks.

 

“Lexa?”

 

“Yes,” she says and leans down again. This time, the kiss lasts longer before Clarke breaks it, biting her lips. “Hi,” the blonde says and tugs her into her bed. But Lexa resists, chuckling when Clarke pouts, confused.

 

“Come on,” she whispers, placing her red _Woods_ hoody and her sweatpants next to Clarke. “I want to show you something.” She's been meaning to do it for a long time, but something always came up. Now, she thinks it was for the best. Now, it's going to be a little more symbolic.

 

Clarke blinks, but doesn't question her, and they quickly make their way downstairs when she gets dressed. Lexa's new car is ready, and they climb in.

 

"What are we doing?" Clarke asks curiously, and Lexa doesn't look at her because she knows that if she does, they won't make it anywhere. They'll spend the night making love in the car, and while it wouldn't be the worst thing, she really wants to show her something first.

 

"Running away," she simply replies, and Clarke's small laugh makes her smile as she steps on gas. It doesn't take too long to reach their destination, especially with almost no cars on the road. Everyone's asleep. Everyone but them. Almost as if they are all alone and the whole world belongs to them, just for a little while.

 

Clarke's eyes are wide and full of wonder when Lexa parks and gets out of the car. She knows her step sister will follow, and, just like she expected, a mere second passes before Clarke joins her on the hood of their car, silently taking in the view before her.

 

"I didn't even know we had a place like that," she breaks the silence then, glancing at Lexa who's still staring straight ahead.

 

"Now you do."

 

It's Lexa's place. It used to be Anya's place, but Anya always shares, and that was the last thing she gave to Lexa before she skipped town on her sixteenth birthday. Back then, Lexa thought it was the last time she saw Anya, but she was wrong. And she wants Clarke to be wrong, too.

 

They are standing on a hill, and before them, the entire town is laid out, gently bathed in streetlight. From up there, it looks small and almost beautiful.

 

Clarke's kiss is tainted with desperation when they meet each other halfway, and her breathing is shallow when they part.

 

"Will you forget about me?" As usual, Clarke doesn't shy away from anything. The question is quiet and child-like. Clarke is trembling, and Lexa's not sure whether it's from the cold or from everything else.

 

 _I never forget about anything,_ she thinks. _But if I ever did, you'd be the only thing I'd remember._

 

She swallows and rests her forehead on the blonde's. "I won't," she simply says out loud. _I can't._

 

Clarke's lips are trembling, too. "I love you," she breathes into Lexa's lips. She doesn't say it often - Clarke is more comfortable showing than saying. Every time she does, though, it sends shivers down Lexa's spine. "God, so, so _much_." The last word is choked out, because Clarke is sobbing into her mouth now, and Lexa doesn't know what to do. She just wants Clarke to stop hurting. She wants to stop hurting, too.

 

"Shh," she says helplessly, gathering her in her arms. It never gets easier - seeing Clarke cry. It still grasps at her throat, squeezing till she can't breathe, still claws at her chest, leaving gashes that won't stop bleeding. "I'm here. I'm here," she whispers into blonde hair, kissing Clarke's head over and over again. The sobs calm down after a little while, and her step sister presses into her, taking deep, shuddering breathes.

 

Her left hand finds Lexa's right, and her lips brush over Lexa's pulse point, so tender she can barely feel it. _I love you_ , Clarke mouths into her neck, and her chest feels like it's gonna burst.

 

It's in this exact moment that Lexa decides she'll do anything to make it happen. To make them happen. Right now, under the fading stars, everything is strikingly clear, and she feels a slow smile forming on her face as she gazes at their town, far away, full of flickering lights and sleeping people dreaming of things they hold dear.

 

She'll go to college. It will be mildly uncomfortable. She'll make friends. Most likely will make some enemies, too. Anya will visit her once or twice. She'll visit Clarke. They will fight over little things. Big things, too. At some point, her father will find out about them. She doesn't know how he will react, and if he will at all.

 

Clarke will join her in a year. Their roommates will either love them or hate them or won't care about them. They'll become roommates during Lexa's senior year. Maybe earlier. Maybe, they won't be roommates at all. She'll get an apartment near college once she graduates and will intern somewhere to gain more experience and wait for Clarke to finish college. Moving in together. Then, law school and med school. Perhaps, Clarke will drop out to become an artist. Perhaps not. Lexa hopes whatever she decides will make her happy.

 

She thinks about new morning routines and shopping trips and movie nights and making love as loudly as they please. She thinks about a small, beautiful ring on Clarke's finger and the nursery color argument, but not before they see the world together, because that's one of Clarke's dreams and Lexa's dream is making her happy.

 

Point is, no matter how their lives go, no matter what paths they choose and how it changes things, Lexa wants Clarke to be her one true constant.

 

The thought is surprisingly calming. It feels right. It feels hopeful and she feels huge, bigger than she actually is, bigger than this town and this sky and their problems, past and current and future. She's an air balloon, ready to float into the sky, fly over their town, silent and gray in the pre-morning glow. It's confusing, but Clarke is in her arms, solid and grounding. She is light and young and in love. It's overwhelming, and Lexa has to take several deep breaths to calm her heart and mind down, until the only thought she has, the only thing she can feel and taste and _breathe_ is Clarke.

 

She presses a long kiss to Clarke's temple, greedily breathing her in. Brushes her nose against her hair and smiles when the girl tightens her arms around her waist. She loves her. Probably always will. It's a very strong word - always. Always entails a promise, and she never makes promises, because there is always a chance she might not be able to keep them. But she's never been completely sure about anything before Clarke.

 

"I..." She's thinking and feeling so many things at once and it's amazing and incredible and words seem so meaningless in comparison. " _Clarke_ ," she breathes out instead. Because that's the only word that's enough.

 

Clarke's lips taste like a beginning.

 

The sun rises.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is emotional. thank you so much for the kudos and your patience and kind words. thank you for this fandom. thank you for keeping the incredible story of clexa alive. thank you for reclaiming it and protecting it and believing in it and being in love with it after everything we've been through. thank you guys. 
> 
>  
> 
> _"And I don't want the world to see me_  
>  _'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_  
>  _When everything's meant to be broken_  
>  _I just want you to know who I am."_
> 
>  
> 
> Iris - Goo Goo Dolls


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